Love Will Continue
by Rosibo
Summary: Alternate ending to love never dies. What would have happened if Meg hadn't shot Christine?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: So I've had a bit of a rewrite. Having looked at some of the criticisms in the reviews (and agreeing with all of them) I decided to make a few alterations. It was pointed out that Erik cries too much, and having read through it again, that's completely true. He's a complete crybaby in this…not what I intended AT ALL. So that's one of the alterations. Also a few people said I need to write more, so chapters have been extended. I've also made other alterations to sentence structure and stuff…just picky things that were annoying me more than anyone else.**

**However I haven't changed the storyline. Just added and removed bits where necessary. Hope this time round it is slightly better.**

Love Will Continue

Chapter One: Give me the gun

"Give me the gun, Meg" he whispered for the third time. He could see she was about to cave, but the gun was still held shakily, uncertainly at her temple. She looked helplessly into his eyes, silently begging him to make everything right again. He gazed back imploringly, pleading with her to see sense. In his eyes, she saw something she had never seen in him before. Was it fear? What had he to fear? She glanced over at the silent onlookers.

There stood Christine, the source of all her recent troubles, with the boy who was equally as problematic as his mother. And yet, as she looked upon their frightened faces, she found could not blame them anymore. Here stood the girl who had been her best friend back when they were children. The girl who had always looked out for her, stood up for her when she had arguments with the other girls in the ballet corps. The girl who had been her sister for all those years. All Christine had done had been to try and protect her family. Meg realised that she herself would have acted no differently had it been her instead of Christine. And here was her child, half hidden behind his mother. He stared at Meg in unbridled fear. A fear she recognised as her own, years ago whenever the opera ghost would haunt the Opera House. Her eyes then fell upon her mother, whose face seemed to scream out of her distress, desperate for her daughter to drop the gun. Meg looked from person to person, seeing only fear and worry in their eyes. Fear and worry for her. She couldn't do this. Everything was wrong.

She looked back at the man who stood before her. Her bottom lip trembled, and her glossy eyes fell to the floor as she let out a tremulous sigh. She fell gently forward into his arms, letting the gun fall from her shaking hand. As it clattered noisily onto the wood of the pier, a wave of relief passed over the Phantom, and he hesitantly wrapped his arms around Meg's quivering frame, as she sobbed into his chest. After a few moments he felt a hand gently squeeze his arm. He turned to see the wearied, exhausted face of Madame Giry, and carefully he prised the weeping girl's arms from his waist, and gently passed her to her mother. Meg and Madame Giry embraced tightly, both lamenting the pain she had suffered.

The phantom stepped away from the pair, and turned to face his onlookers. Christine stood, eyes glistening, gazing into his eyes with a mixture of relief and turmoil evident on her delicate features. Under her arm, she held her young son, gripping his shoulder tightly, pulling him against her side. He looked at the Phantom, fear plain in his bright brown eyes, holding his mother as tightly as she held him.

He reached down to retrieve the gun, which he recognised to be his own, concealing it in his coat. He then stepped toward Christine, stopping just in front of her, mere inches separating them. He reached up timidly, and stroked her cheek with his index finger, as though he were scared to press too much of his own sinful skin against hers, which was pure and untainted. Physical contact had always been so alien to him, that it felt wrong, as though it were forbidden, but the moment his skin touched hers he felt peaceful. She gazed at him lovingly, a gentle, but sad smile on her full lips. She could sense his discomfort in touching her, but she felt that after all these years and disasters, after their trials and misunderstandings, she finally understood him. And she loved him for it. He pressed his entire palm softly to the side of her face. It seemed to fit the curve of her cheek flawlessly, as if it was meant to be. His skin belonged against hers, and his heart belonged to her.

With new found confidence at his revelation, coupled with the fact that she showed no repulsion at the feeling of his hand on her cheek, he tenderly took her hand in his own. With one last glance back at Madame Giry and her daughter, he turned and began to walk away from the pier. Christine grasped his hand tightly and followed him, her other hand firmly within little Gustave's grip. He led them back through Phantasma to the hotel, where he escorted the pair to their room. Christine and Gustave entered, followed nervously by the Phantom.

"Where's Papa? Shouldn't he be here, Mother?" Gustave enquired quietly, throwing wary glances at the Phantom. The man with the frightening face was here and his father was not, and he wasn't sure that he understood why. Christine took a step towards her son, and knelt down before him. She took his hands in hers and looked up into his eyes.

"Gustave," Christine began, unsure of what to tell the boy.

"Is he out drinking again?" Gustave asked quietly. Erik frowned, wondering how many times the Vicomte had been out drinking to provoke such a remark from a ten-year-old boy.

"No, darling," Christine shook her head solemnly. He gazed back at her in confusion, awaiting an explanation.

At length, she decided that he should know the truth, especially now that Raoul was gone. "Gustave, your father…Your real father…" She paused, and slowly turned her head towards the Phantom, who stood uneasily near the door.

"Mother?" Gustave questioned. His mother seemed to be suggesting that the man by the door, Mr Y, was his father. But that couldn't be right, could it?

"Gustave, this is your father." She stated, still staring lovingly at the Phantom. At the boy's extended silence, she turned back to him, worried about how he would react. She was surprised, however, to see him looking at the Phantom, not with confusion or anger, but with silent comprehension, as if he had had some suspicion confirmed. She had always known he was intelligent, just like his father.

Gustave stared into his father's eyes. He had not so much _expected_ to find that this man was in fact his father, but somewhere deep inside, his heart had told him that he was bonded to this man from the moment he met him. The man understood him, and showed him magical, beautiful, _wonderful_ things that he could only have dreamt of seeing. But, then again, there was the man's face. Under that mask was a face of twisted flesh and exposed bone, and even the memory frightened Gustave. But perhaps now that he knew who the man really was it might be different. He needed to see it. To see if it was as terrifying as he remembered it to be.

The Phantom shifted uncomfortably on his feet as Gustave's eyes bore into his own. He feared the boy would hate him, or worse (yet more likely, he felt) run away screaming at any moment. He was astounded when the boy suddenly took a step towards him, followed by another, then another. After a few paces Gustave stood before the Phantom, his head barely reaching the Phantom's chest. He looked apprehensive, yet there was a curiosity glowing in his big brown eyes. As the boy slowly reached his hand up to the mask the Phantom's breathing hitched, his body shaking in nervous trepidation. As a small hand pressed against his mask he fought the urge to recoil and hide himself. Gustave's fingers slid under the edge of the mask and softly pried the white cover from his face, taking with it the wig of smooth, black hair. As the discarded items were dropped to the floor Gustave looked upon his father's face, a mystified look in his eyes, but no trace of fear.

The Phantom was sure that the boy would scream any moment, and he knew that when he did, all his hopes would be crushed. Hopes that at last he had found someone like him, not physically, but in their souls. Hopes that he could have a son who didn't fear him, and could show him the love that he never had the chance to show his own father. Such fragile hopes that could, at any moment, be shattered into millions of pieces. But the boy lifted a trembling hand and held it so that it hovered over the marred flesh on the right side of his father's face. At long last, the boy's hand made gentle contact with the twisted skin, and he held it there without fear or repulsion. The phantom felt the unshed tears in his eyes spill over down both of his cheeks as he let out the breath he had been holding in a short, relieved sigh. His eyes closed, and he lifted his hand to cover his son's, holding Gustave's smooth hand against his cheek. After a few moments the boy retracted his hand and flew forward into the arms of his father. He wrapped his arms tightly around the Phantom's waist.

He knew now that not only did this man, his father, understand and appreciate him, but that his face was not something to be feared, and held so much beauty underneath if only people looked beyond the obvious. The first time he had seen it he had been terrified, repulsed. But somehow it seemed different now. As though, the first time he had seen it, it had been like a sudden burst of intense light shone straight into his eyes after being in darkness for a long time; harsh and unexpected. But now that his eyes had had time to adjust to the light, he saw that it was coming from a single, solitary candle, and all fear and repulsion was gone. He instantly felt drawn to the light of that candle, knowing that so often it had been mistaken for a horrendous consuming fire, burning all who got too close. Yet the candle was just a man, and the man was his father. He suddenly envisioned the life his father must have known. It must have been so lonely, and without love. It did not seem fair. But Gustave knew this man now, and he felt only the unwavering love a son holds for his father. And he knew that his mother loved him too, in a way she had never loved his other father. His other father had never treated him or his mother nicely. He would disappear for days on end, and return smelling of alcohol, often having gambled away any money they might have previously acquired. And he had never shown Gustave much attention, preferring to shut himself away in his study with a bottle of brandy. But he knew somehow that it would all change now. The man before him had already shown Gustave more attention than his other father had in his entire life. And he seemed gentle, especially with Gustave's mother. He was so accustomed to seeing his mother cry, after being shunned and ignored and blamed for things that were not her fault. But this man had shown only love and care for him and his mother, so he clutched onto the phantom's waist to show him he was not afraid.

As his son pressed himself against his chest, all the relief the Phantom had just felt at the boy showing no fear of his face dissipated as it was replaced by panic. Here stood his son within his embrace, and yet he had no idea how to be a father. How did a father act with his son? He stood uncomfortably, his arms sticking out slightly by his sides. He was worried that if he embraced the boy, the dream would shatter and the boy would flee from him. So he just stood, his body rigid and tense. His eyes flickered on spots on the far wall, twitching nervously, when they suddenly made contact with Christine's and stilled. From her eyes flooded a stream of joyful tears, a gentle smile on her lips. Her hands were clasped together below her chin. He gazed at her worriedly, begging her to give him a signal on what he should do. Sensing his insecurity, her smile widened and she nodded reassuringly. He smiled slightly and nodded back, before returning his eyes to the boy, who still clung to him tightly. Timidly, his arms closed around the boys back, and the boy's hold on him tightened. Encouraged by his son's response, he closed his arms tightly around the child and lowered his face to the top of the boy's head. Silent tears spilled from his eyes.

At length, Christine broke their affectionate reverie. "Come along, Gustave. Time for bed." Christine spoke gently to her son. Gustave slowly withdrew from his father's arms and turned to face Christine.

"Yes, mother." He spoke softly, and he walked over and embraced her. He smiled up at her, and she gazed down adoringly at him. "Goodnight, mother" he whispered.

"Goodnight, my darling Gustave" she replied quietly.

He walked over to his bedroom door. On the threshold of his bedroom he turned quickly to look at the Phantom, and said confidently and earnestly "Goodnight, Father."

Taken aback at being called 'father', the Phantom managed only a strained whisper of "Goodnight", before Gustave turned and left the room, closing the door softly behind him. The Phantom stared at the closed door in bewilderment, and whispered "my son".


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: First off, thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed and added me to favourites/story alerts etc. It means a lot to know people are enjoying what I have written.**

**I may not be able to update too much over the next couple of months, as I have some big exams coming up and my life currently revolves around revision.**

**Anyways here is chapter 2. It's another relatively short one, but it felt like a good place to end the chapter. I've decided to use Erik as the phantom's name. I know that in love never dies he is just called Phantom, but I felt that was just too impersonal, so I've used the name given by Leroux.**

**So here it is. Happy reading…**

**Update: So here's the new improved Chapter 2. Enjoy!**

Chapter Two: Stay With Me

Christine watched in silence as the Phantom's eyes remained on the closed door of Gustave's bedroom. She could see the sheer bewilderment on his twisted features. Suddenly he seemed to wake from his trance and turned his head to face Christine. As his eyes made contact with hers, he seemed to realise where he was, and what was missing from his face. Instinctively, his hand flew up to cover the deformity on the right side of his face, and he turned his body away from her.

Without hesitation, Christine walked towards his turned back. She reached out and gently took hold of his arm. She slowly pulled on it, and his body reluctantly turned to face her. She looked up into his eyes, but he refused to meet her gaze, and kept his eyes firmly trained on the floor at his feet. She cautiously reached her own hand up and pressed it against the hand he still held to his disfigured cheek. With care, she pulled at his fingers, and they weakly fell away from his face. She reached up with both hands, and held them at either side of his jaw. She lifted his head up, forcing him to make eye contact. As his glassy eyes met hers, she gave him an amorous smile, and turned his head so that his mottled skin faced her. Then, without any sign of vacillation, she reached her head up and pressed her lips to his cheek. He let out a tremulous sigh, and his rigid body relaxed.

At the feel of Christine's lips on his cheek, he felt his world was complete. She no longer feared him. She was no longer repulsed by the sight of the monstrous malformation that had plagued him since his inauspicious birth. That night, ten years ago, it had been too dark to see a thing. She had not had to look upon his face as she made love to him. The darkness had given him a confidence he could never imagine having in the light. Darkness was kind. Yet here he stood, his face bared, completely visible, and she was touching him. He felt as though he had a glimpse of heaven as her lips ghosted over his face, pressing tiny yet utterly significant kisses to every inch of skin. Eventually, Christine pulled away and turned his face back to hers. He gazed into her eyes with a look of complete awe and unrepressed love, tears of joy and wonder falling freely from his eyes. Yet somewhere within his expression, Christine could still see his disbelief. It was as though he would not trust his own eyes. That there must be some cruel, hidden motive behind the scene before him, luring him into a false sense of security, and this broke Christine's heart. She had to prove to him that this was real. That she really did love him. With one last glimpse into his eyes, she closed the gap between them, her lips catching his in a passionate, yet tender kiss. After a few moments, he tentatively responded, his lips moulding to hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself closer to his body. Timidly, his arms closed around her waist, and he held her tenderly to himself.

After several minutes, Christine reluctantly broke the kiss. She rested her forehead against his, her eyes closed in serenity. He gazed at her closed eyes in wonderment. Her beauty had not wavered at all in the ten years they had been apart. If anything, he felt she had become even more beautiful with age. She slowly unwrapped her arms from his neck and rested them against his chest, withdrawing her forehead from his. She looked deep into his eyes, trying desperately to read his unreadable mind.

At length, he spoke. "It is late. I suppose I should leave you to rest. You have had a distressing day." His expression had returned to the impassive facade he displayed to the world.

Christine looked up at him. She did not want him to leave. It would be just like him to disappear from her life once again at the bat of an eye. She could not risk it. He could not leave her again.

"Stay with me," she whispered. He looked at her in confusion.

"Stay with you?" he asked uncertainly.

"I do not want to be alone. And I don't want you to disappear. Just stay with me, so that I know you won't leave me." She begged.

As he looked into her worried eyes, he knew he could not deny her. She had only asked for his company after all. What harm could it do? If it gave her some comfort, then he would stay. Although, how this face could offer her any comfort he could not fathom, but nevertheless, he would acquiesce.

"Of course. I will never leave you as long as you want me," he reassured her. How could he ever dream of leaving her again? It had destroyed half his soul to run away the first time. He could not imagine putting himself through that again. "I promise." He stated assuredly.

She smiled gratefully at him, and reached out to take hold of his hand. He let her lead him through a door to her right: Her bedroom. She stopped just inside the door, and turned to him.

"I shall just be a moment. I am going to change into my nightdress. Make yourself comfortable." She smiled reassuringly at him, and then floated through another door just off her bedroom. She looked like an angel, he thought, as he watched her walk away in awe.

Once she had disappeared from sight, he stood awkwardly staring at the closed door. 'Make yourself comfortable' she had said. He scanned the room. Against the wall furthest from the main door was a large four-poster bed. Against the wall to the right, beside the door Christine had just stepped through, was a plain looking dressing table, with a large oval mirror attached to the wall. An old, worn wooden chair stood against the wall to the left. He paced over to the chair, and lowered himself onto it. Here, he sat patiently in contemplation, and waited for Christine to return.

Several minutes later, she returned wearing a white, lacy nightgown. Her undulating curls let loose around her shoulders. The Phantom had never seen something so beautiful, and was rendered speechless at the sight of her. She walked over to the bed, and drew back the covers. She crawled under the sheets, and laid herself down. She looked over at him. He looked back at her timidly.

"You must need to sleep as well. There's plenty of room." She gestured to the side of the bed closest to the chair. He swallowed thickly, and was suddenly very aware that he wasn't wearing his mask. His breathing quickened, and his hands began to tremble. He cursed himself for behaving so much like a shy child, but found he couldn't help it. He had managed to keep his suave façade on around her since she had arrived on the island, but he found that the absence of his mask caused an absence in his confidence. But he also felt that until this evening, the entire time Christine had been here had felt nothing more than a dream, and it is easy to act self-assured when you believe you are in a fantasy. But now, in this room with her, everything felt so real, and so fantastic, and so utterly terrifying.

"Come on." She said softly, smiling encouragingly at him.

He stood diffidently, and walked slowly over to the side of the bed. He removed his jacket and shoes, and crawled under the cover that she had pushed open for him. He shifted uncomfortably, trying to keep as much distance from Christine as he could. She sat and quickly extinguished the bedside light, shrouding the room in darkness. A soft mist of light from the illumination of Coney Island seeped through the thin curtains. Christine settled back down into the warm embrace of the sheets. After a moment she turned her head to him.

"Your name," she said distantly.

"What?" he replied, his voice faltering slightly.

"You've never told me your name." She stated, suddenly inquisitive.

He wavered over her statement. Only Madame Giry knew his real name, and he had instructed her to only call him Mr Y for such a long time. He rarely told anyone his name. It was as much a secret as the face beneath his mask. To allow people to know his name was like exposing his disfigurement for the entire world to see. But he supposed Christine had already seen his face, and accepted it as a part of him. Perhaps she should know his name. He wanted to give her everything, so he supposed that this was a start.

"Erik," he whispered, "my name is Erik."

Christine looked into his distant eyes.

"Erik." She repeated softly. Such a normal name for such an extraordinary man. But then again, he really was as ordinary as any man. He had a heart and soul, just like any other human, so Christine wondered why she would ever assume his name would be any different. "I like it." She stated simply. He smiled bashfully at her. She returned his smile, then shuffled closer to him, and curled into his side, one arm draped over his torso. At the contact, he inhaled a sharp, nervous breath. But he soon relaxed, and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. As sleep claimed the angel in his arms, and her breathing deepened, he murmured, "My Christine, I love you." And as he closed his eyes, he missed the slight, tender smile that curled on her lips.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Once again, thank you to everyone who has reviewed. It always makes me smile when I get an alert in my inbox to say somebody has reviewed/added to story alerts etc.**

**Despite my busy revision schedule, I just couldn't leave this story alone. It constantly pops up in my brain asking to be written, so I've written chapter 3 in the hope that it keeps quiet until I finish my exams.**

**So here's chapter 3. Let me know your thoughts on the story so far. All reviews, good or bad (preferably constructive if the latter) are warmly welcomed.**

Chapter Three: Your Erik

As the first ray of morning sunlight shone through the mesh curtains, Christine's eyelids fluttered gently open. In the distance she could hear the muffled rumble of crowds gathering, heading for the madness of the lights and sounds of Coney Island and Phantasma beyond the gates outside the hotel. The smell of fresh pastries and pretzels filled her nostrils, and as if in reply, her stomach gave a low growl. She suddenly realised that she can't have eaten since before the show the previous evening; after the preceding night's frenetic trauma the thought of supper had completely slipped from her mind.

At the thought of last night, she abruptly remembered what had transpired, and who had spent the night next to her. She gave a soft smile at the thought, and slowly turned her head to the side, worried that any quick movement would wake any person who happened to be lying next to her. However, it seemed she needn't have worried, as there was nothing but an empty bed either side of her. She began to wonder if last night's events had all been a figment of her imagination. It did seem too good to be true, she supposed. But it had been so vivid. The feel of the man she had longed for, for so many years now, with his arms wrapped tightly around her. She could never have dreamt that could happen, so maybe it had been real?

She bolted upright, her eyes frantically searching the rest of the room, for the missing masked man, but knowing already that she wouldn't find him here. Dejectedly, she glanced down to the side of the bed her companion ought to have been, and found something else entirely. Laid upon the pillow, was a crimson rose on a thornless stem, around which was a length of black, silk ribbon, tied flawlessly in a bow.

Christine's eyes lit up with excitement and wonder. She had not invented last night in her own mind. It had happened. And the Phantom, no,_ Erik, _had really stayed with her. She could hardly contain her happiness, and she grinned inanely at the rose. She gently reached down and picked it up. She rubbed the ribbon between her thumb and fingertip, and marvelled at how soft it felt.

Eagerly she climbed out of bed, carefully placing the rose on her dressing table. She scuttled over to the wardrobe, and pulled out a clean, white dress with lace patterns across the bodice. She quickly dressed into the garment, and then darted back to her dressing table. She sat in front of the large oval mirror, and began to impatiently brush through the tangled mess of hair on her head. When she deemed her appearance acceptable, she leapt from the stool, and hurried into the main room.

She was almost surprised to find it empty; a part of her had imagined herself walking in and finding Erik stood in the middle of the room, awaiting her with open arms. However, her disappointment soon dissipated, as she glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. She felt a pang of worry as she read the time. It was half past 11 in the morning. Normally Gustave would have been up two hours ago, rushing in to wake his mother and father. She supposed, however, that he must just have been exhausted after last night's ordeal. Still, she couldn't help but worry about him. After the shock of finding him missing the previous evening, she suddenly felt very protective of him.

She decided to check on him anyway, to put her mind at ease. Quietly, she crept over to the door that led to his bedroom. She softly turned the knob and gave the door a gentle nudge. She peered around the doorframe, and saw an empty bed. Panicked, she wildly threw the door open, running towards his vacant bed. Her fear rapidly lessened though, as her eyes fell upon another rose, identical to the one she had found just minutes earlier, sat innocently on Gustave's pillow. However, this one differed in that it was not the only item on the pillow. Beneath it was a folded piece of paper.

Christine walked tentatively over to the bed, and reached out, pulling the note from under the flower. On the front, it was addressed 'My Christine', in elegant script. The personal pronoun made a light smile dance onto her lips, and she visibly relaxed, knowing that Gustave was safe in the care of his father. She sat down on the edge of the bed and carefully unfolded the note, and found more of the beautiful calligraphy. She read the note to herself.

My Christine,

Do not fear for Gustave. He is safe, I promise you. He and I both awoke early, and I feared that he would wake you. You had a stressful ordeal last night, and I saw fit that you must rest as long as you needed.

The boy and I have gone down to Phantasma. He wished to see the theatre when it is empty, so I am taking him there first. I imagine we shall be there for several hours. I have many of my creations stored in the theatre, of which I am sure he will show a keen interest in. If you wish to find us when you have awoken, I am sure we will still be there.

All of my love, my Christine,

Your Erik

The grin on Christine's face widened as she read the last two words. How odd to think that until just a few days ago she had believed she would never see him again, yet here lay the proof that he was here, and had declared himself as hers, and her as his.

So much had changed since those days at the opera, when she had believed him to be nothing but a glorious spectre. How naïve she had been. And how much Erik had transformed since then. His life lived in darkness and solitude in the lowest cellars of the Paris opera house, now altered beyond recognition. Now he spent his life above the world in his own little aerie, and the changes in his temperament were colossal.

It seemed that ten years living above ground had made him almost unrecognisable. He no longer shied away from people, although he still evidently felt uncomfortable around others. And he no longer resorted to violence and cold-blooded murder to achieve his goals, even if his temper remained a defining factor of his disposition. Altogether, Christine could see that the last decade had made Erik far more human than he had allowed himself to be in all the years she had known him.

And now there was Gustave. Christine could still not foresee how Erik would cope with being a father. Its not that she feared for her son; she knew his father would never harm him. But she also did not know whether Erik knew how to treat the boy. She supposed Erik had never been around children, although she did not know his entire past. Yet she also felt down in her heart that Erik's cold demeanour had left him with a lifetime's worth of love suppressed within him, ready to be released. And who better for him to share it with than his own flesh and blood?

Thinking about her son and Erik caused an undeniable glee to rise within Christine's chest, and she felt the sudden urge to see them both. She took one last look at the note, and smiling, carefully folded it and tucked it safe under the neckline of her dress. She stood up, and after smoothing down Gustave's bed sheets, she turned and left the room.

She quickly pulled on her boots and travel coat, and hurried out the front door of the hotel room. She dashed down the several flights of stairs that led down the hotel foyer, and out through the main doors. Behind her, the enormous, aptly named, 'Hotel Populaire', rose up to the blue, cloudless sky. Before her, a few hundred yards down the path that led to the hotel, stood open a tall iron gate, with the word 'Phantasma' displayed across the top. Beyond the gate stood Phantasma itself, and all the sights, sounds and smells that came with it.

Christine strode through the gates into the madness beyond. She was met by the thrilled screams of visitors swept away on all sorts of incredible contraptions that Christine could not have named. The bright lights glared out, so vivid that they made the morning sun look dim in comparison. Unperturbed, she continued through the insanity, and headed towards the theatre, where she knew she would find her two favourite men.

When she reached the doors to the theatre, she noticed how quiet the area was. She read the posters tacked to the doors. There were no performances on that morning, which explained the lack of people. She cautiously pushed the heavy wooden door open, and found herself in the main foyer. Through another set of doors she could see the stalls of the theatre. She paced over to the doors and stepped through. She was blown away by the sight that met her. She realised that last night she had not gotten a chance to appreciate the inside of the theatre, but now that she saw it from this perspective, she was astounded by its beauty. Magnificent, ornate golden carvings rose up either side of the stage, and all around the balcony, in the shape of hundreds of unnameable mythical creatures, gods and goddesses. And the entire room beamed out vivid shades of red, mahogany and dazzling gold. It reminded Christine very much of the interior of the 'Opera Populaire', and she realised that this must have been Erik's intention.

As she stood and marvelled at the exquisite architecture around her, she did not notice the small pair of legs running onto the stage, until she heard the equally small voice that accompanied it. "What's this one father?" Gustave asked excitedly as he appeared from the wings, pulling Erik along by the hand. The masked man was clearly struggling to keep up with his son, yet he had a devoted smile on his face all the same.

Christine smiled at the picture in front of her; her son's hand in Erik's, and both smiling happily at each other. It was all she could ever have dreamed of.

Gustave stopped next to a figure made of metal, in the shape of a horse, only it had eight legs. It was shiny and black, with strange patterns over its form in white silver lines. Erik stood next to his son, slightly bent over so that his face was close to the boy's.

"That, dear boy, is a very special contraption," Erik told him in his most mysterious voice. He grinned mischievously as Gustave's eyes widened in curiosity.

"What does it do?" Gustave urged when his father didn't continue.

"Let me show you," he replied, his playful grin widening.

Erik swiftly straightened, lifted one hand up to the level of his eye, and gave one sharp click of his fingers. On his cue, music and singing erupted from the horse, and its eight legs began to move. The feet began tapping out a rhythm in time with the music, moving smoothly in an order that meant the markings on each leg combined with one another to form beautiful shapes across the legs.

Gustave looked upon the horse in wonder. His mind exploding with all of the extraordinary things he had seen.

"It's," Gustave began. Surely no word he knew could describe what it was, so he settled for the only word that came close. "It's incredible!" he declared, a look of pure astonishment on his face.

Erik beamed at his son's words. He had never dared to believe that anyone else could feel as he did about his creations. He gazed down at his son, who was completely entranced by the horse, with absolute adoration. He at last felt not only wholly accepted, but understood too, and although Christine had offered him the former, the latter was a sensation he had never dreamed he would feel.

Christine watched in silence. The look on Erik's face broke her heart. She saw the devotion in his eyes as he looked upon his son, and at last she felt her family was complete.

Moments passed before Erik lifted his hand and clicked again. Abruptly the music stopped and the horse's movements ceased. Gustave awoke suddenly from his trance, and turned to look at his father, who grinned impishly. There was a trace of smugness in his eyes as the boy's bewildered look remained plastered on his features.

"Very impressive Monsieur le Phantom," came a teasing voice from the audience. Both males turned to look at where the voice had come from. Christine smiled as she saw the same expression of surprise on both faces. Their eyebrows arched in the same way, their mouths both open just the slightest amount. She had no doubt as to whom Gustave's father was; the identical expressions made it undeniable that they were father and son.

However, Gustave's features quickly melted into an excited smile as he recognised the woman who had spoken.

"Mother!" he shouted to her, and bolted down the steps at the side of the stage. He rushed quickly up the aisle to his mother and leapt into her arms, still smiling happily.

"Hello Gustave," Christine murmured to her son.

Erik timidly followed Gustave's path down from the stage, and stopped a few metres short of the embracing pair. Gustave let go of his mother, and looked up into her eyes.

"Father has been showing me all of his wonderful inventions," he declared enthusiastically.

"So I see," she replied softly. "They are quite impressive are they not?" she stated, as her gaze lifted to the man stood before them.

"They are fantastic, Mother! I've never seen anything like them!" he stated animatedly.

"If you don't mind, Gustave, would you give your father and I a moment to talk?" Christine asked her son politely.

"Of course, Mother," he replied, equally polite. "I shall go and have another look at the creations backstage. That is, if that is alright with you, Father?" he enquired, turning to face Erik.

"Of course," Erik replied, looking rather nervous, "just be careful not to break anything."

Gustave took one last glance at his mother, and then hurried off back towards the stage. Once he had disappeared into the wing, Christine took a tentative step towards her masked man. He stood rooted to the spot, still visibly nervous.

"Thank you for taking him out this morning," she said sweetly, "I hope he wasn't any trouble."

"Oh, no trouble at all. I enjoy his company," Erik answered.

For a moment, both stood looking at each other, unsure of how to conduct themselves. At length, Erik broke the silence.

"I'm sure you are hungry. Perhaps we could go and get some breakfast. The three of us," he suggested diffidently.

"Oh, yes that would be lovely," she nodded enthusiastically, "but first I would just like to collect some things from my dressing room if you do not mind."

"Of course, Madame," he replied courteously, "I shall go and find Gustave while you do so."

"Thank you," she smiled. She stepped closer to him, leaned in, and placed a soft kiss to his exposed cheek. She pulled away, and gave him a playful smile as he turned bright red.

She headed down the aisle, up the steps, and into the wing. She quickly paced down the corridors backstage until she reached her dressing room door. She opened it quickly and headed straight for the dressing table where the jewellery that she wanted to collect was sat. She opened the little jewellery box, and pulled out a set of gold earrings, and a gold necklace, and placed them carefully in her coat pocket. She scanned the rest of the table for any other items she wished to recover. Her eyes suddenly fell upon a ring. It had a thin gold band, with tiny red stones engrained into it, and an elegant white diamond on the top. It was her wedding ring. She had taken it off after the previous night's performance. Her thoughts suddenly turned to Raoul.

She could not believe how easily she had forgotten him. Only yesterday had he been in this very room with her, declaring his love for her and begging her to leave with him. She was suddenly appalled with herself. She had denied her own husband. The man she had known since she was just a girl, back when her father had been alive. He had been her best friend and childhood sweetheart, and she had loved him so much, even if that love had never been more than platonic to her. She suddenly missed him greatly, and her eyes began to fill with tears, which quickly spilled over.

"Raoul, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," she began to whisper to herself, knowing that he couldn't possibly hear her. She fell onto the stool beside the dressing table, and let her head fall into her hands.

"Christine, I…" a voice began from the doorway, but it was quickly halted when the owner of the voice saw the state of the woman in question. Erik quickly ran in and fell to his knees beside the stool.

"Christine, what's wrong?" he enquired gently, his eyes full of worry and confusion.

Without lifting her head, she handed him the ring. He looked down at it, first in puzzlement, then in understanding. It must be her wedding ring. He was hit with a violent pang of guilt as he realised it was because of him that she was crying now. She didn't want him. She wanted her husband. He had been foolish to believe otherwise.

Heartbroken, he whispered, "I'm sorry Christine. I'll leave you be."

He stood, and with a deep, pained sigh, he turned to leave the room.

"Wait!" Christine almost shouted. "Don't go, please. I'm sorry, I'm being stupid."

"Its okay, Christine, I understand," he sighed dejectedly, his body turned away from hers, "you want your husband."

He once again made to leave when Christine suddenly cried "no, Erik. Please, don't leave. I chose you, not Raoul. I stand by that decision. Please, just don't go."

She broke down into tears again, and gazed at him in desperation. He turned to face her. At the heartbroken look in her eyes, he quickly softened. He walked back to the stool and once again fell to his knees before the woman he adored so much.

"Forgive me, Christine," he begged, "I do not know what came over me. I will never leave you as long as you want me, I promise."

She leaned forward and threw her arms around his neck. Slowly, she leaned down and brought her face close to his. Boldly, she pressed her lips tenderly to his mouth. He shuffled closer to her, and wrapped his arms around her waist. They stayed like this for some time, revelling in the unfamiliar feel of one another's lips.

Eventually, Christine broke the kiss. She unwrapped her arms from Erik's neck, and stood up, pulling him up with her. She held both of his hands between them as she gazed into his eyes.

"I'm starving," she declared, "let's go and have some breakfast."

All Erik could do was smile and nod. He was still dumbfounded by her kiss, so he let her pull him out of the dressing room by the hand. He could not believe his luck. He was almost starting to believe that his beautiful, incredible, wonderful Christine could possibly love him as he loved her. As he was dragged through the backstage of the theatre by the love of his life, who held onto his son with her other hand, he felt an overwhelming sense of peace. He suddenly felt that at last, he knew what true happiness was.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four: Croissants are on the Menu

Erik paused outside the French-style café, and reached out to pull open the door. He stood aside from the entrance and gestured for Christine and Gustave to enter. Christine thanked him and gave him a sweet smile that brought a slight blush to Erik's cheeks. She stepped into the café, Gustave beside her holding onto her hand.

"Thank you, Father," said Gustave politely, matching Christine's smile.

Erik couldn't help but return the smile, and he gave Gustave a friendly wink, which made the boy giggle. For a moment, Erik stood still in the doorway watching his new family walking towards a table in the corner of the small room. As Christine turned to look at him he awoke from his stupor, and hurried to catch up with the pair.

He held out a chair for Christine at their table, and she once again thanked him and flashed him that smile. This time he returned it. She took her seat, Gustave beside her, and Erik sat in a chair on the opposite side of the table.

The table was in the corner of the café where it was quietest. At this time in the morning, the café was obviously very popular. There were very few empty tables, all of which had used plates, cutlery and napkins left over from previous customers. All occupied tables were surrounded by people, talking happily about the weather and their plans, and other nonsense. As normal as it would seem to anyone else, it was all too alien to Erik. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, glancing around the room to see if anyone was staring. It was hard enough to be in crowds of people at Phantasma, where he always went unnoticed despite his mask. But here, he felt exposed. They were no longer within the gates of Phantasma, and a man in a mysterious white mask would appear far more out of place here.

He rubbed and twisted his fingers together uncomfortably in front of him on the table. Christine noticed his unease, and she reached out and placed her hand on top of his to still them. His eyes suddenly stopped flickering around the room and came to rest on Christine's brown orbs. She smiled at him reassuringly, and he returned a self-conscious smile.

She squeezed his hands gently, and he withdrew one of them, leaving the other in Christine's grasp across the wooden surface.

"What would you like to eat, Gustave?" Christine asked her son. He had the menu in his hands and was staring at it intently.

"I thought this was a French café, mother? The menu is mostly in English" he replied, a bewildered look upon his face.

"We are in America, Gustave. If the menu were in French very few people would be able to understand it," she answered him gently, "You speak good English anyway, Gustave."

"I know, Mother. I understand it fine. I just don't understand how they can call it 'Café delice de France' when the whole menu is in English!" he exclaimed exasperatedly.

Christine smiled at him amusedly.

"Well, croissants are on the menu, and that's French. Why don't you have one of those?"

"Well…" Gustave started. He paused, deep in thought about whether this was a good enough reason to choose croissants. "Ok, then!" he finished, an enthusiastic smile on his face.

Christine let out a gentle laugh, and then turned to the masked man across the table, whose hand was still firmly in hers. He was looking at his son with an expression Christine could not give a name to. It was a look somewhere between awe and sheer adoration. It sent flutters through her chest to see that look on a face that had been fused in her memory with an expression of pure heartbreak and despair, as she had left him in the dark catacombs of the Paris opera house all those years ago.

"Erik," she prompted, and he quickly met her gaze, "have you chosen what you would like yet?" she enquired.

He glanced down at the closed menu before him. He had been so entranced by his son that he had forgotten where he was for a moment.

"I'll have whatever you're having, Madame," he answered.

"Erik, please don't call me 'Madame'" Christine sighed, "you make me feel so old!"

"My apologies, Mademoiselle," he corrected apologetically.

Christine giggled, much to Erik's confusion.

"I mean call me Christine, Erik," she sighed again, although there was no exasperation to it; only a patient gentleness, "Mademoiselle is far too formal. Surely we are acquainted enough to refer to each other on a first-name basis?" she asked, a slight gleam of humour in her eyes.

"Indeed we are, Christine," he replied, an edge of humour in his voice that matched her mischievous eyes. How better acquainted could a man and a woman be?

"Good," she answered, a satisfied grin on her face, "three croissants it is."

On cue, a waiter appeared by the table.

"So what can I get you, Madame?" he asked Christine.

"Three croissants, please," Christine answered in her best English accent.

The waiter smiled politely. "Oh, you're French. Not often we get real French people in here. Hope our food is as good as it is in France…"

He was about to continue his ramblings when Erik stopped him.

"I'm sure the food is fine," he snapped impatiently.

"Sure. Fine. Yeah," the waiter stammered. The man was glaring angrily at him, and that mask was intimidating enough. He quickly turned on his heel and walked swiftly away, throwing a few nervous glances back at the man.

"Erik," Christine spoke in a warning voice.

He turned his head to look at her. He saw the disapproval in her eyes, and he looked down at the table like a dejected child. Christine immediately felt guilty, and softened her features. She gave his hand an encouraging squeeze. He met her eyes again and was instantly carried away in her gentle smile. He could not believe that after all this time she could still control him with a single look.

Christine turned her attentions to her son.

"So, Gustave, what did you and your Father get up to this morning?" she asked him inquisitively.

Gustave enthusiastically launched into telling his Mother everything that had happened since they left the hotel room that morning. How he had seen the theatre in a new light since his Father had shown him the building plans. How he had been up to the balconies above the stage and seen how all the set pieces worked. How he had seen all of his father's incredible creations.

"Mother, you should see them all!" he exclaimed gleefully, "so many amazing things in one place!"

"Well, perhaps your father could show me some time," Christine suggested.

Erik gave her a grin.

"I would be honoured," he replied sincerely. She returned his grin affectionately.

Their amorous reverie was broken as their food arrived. The nervous waiter set their plates down before them, and placed a block of butter in the centre of the table. He then quickly retreated before the masked man could say anything else to him, much to Erik's amusement.

Together they sat and ate happily, making light conversation and enjoying their croissants, although Gustave commented that they tasted nothing like they did in France.

Across the café, a man sat alone at a table. In front of him sat an untouched cup of coffee. He wore a large coat and a tall hat, which was placed on his head in such a way that his features were cast in shadow. He watched the happy family with glaring eyes.

A waiter approached the mysterious man.

"Sir, that coffee has been in front of you for over an hour. Perhaps you would prefer another drink?" he enquired warily.

"I'm not thirsty," the man replied in heavily accented English.

The waiter took this as a dismissal. He withdrew and left the man alone.

The man remained still as he watched the family finish their food and pay. His eyes never left the masked man, whose hand remained in the woman's, as the trio walked together through the café and out the door.

He took a deep, shaking, angry breath, his hand balled into a tight fist. He opened his hand and looked at the now crushed rose in his palm. He stood suddenly, pulling the black cloak from the back of his chair and throwing it over himself. He marched angrily out of the café, leaving the broken red petals strewn sorrowfully across the white tablecloth.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Okay so here's another chapter.**

**Decided to write this instead of doing revision…probably a bad move xD**

**Last two exams tomorrow so lots more updates after then.**

**My apologies for how boring the previous chapter was. It was just a short filler chapter to introduce the mysterious cloaked man into the story. It was also written at 2am so I wasn't at my best.**

**I'm also upping the rating just to be on the safe side.**

**I'm not sure how I feel about this chapter. Let me know what you think…**

**Happy reading =)**

Chapter Five: Always His

"May we go and see the rest of Phantasma now?" Gustave asked animatedly as the trio walked back towards the theme park. He was hopping along excitedly beside his parents, who were walking hand in hand.

"As long as it's ok with your father," Christine suggested, throwing a glance at Erik.

"Of course. There is so much to see that you haven't yet set eyes on, my boy. No doubt you'll be blown away by the magnificence of it all," Erik replied mysteriously, a gleam in his eye as he smiled mischievously at Gustave. Gustave smiled back with eager enthusiasm.

"What kind of things, Father?" Gustave questioned. He moved in front of his parents and walked backwards facing them as they continued down the street.

"Things like that," Erik declared. He was pointing over Gustave's head.

The boy whipped around to see what his father had been looking at. From over the top of the buildings before them, a tower had become visible. It must have been nearly 30 feet high, and down from it trailed a metal slide, which curled all the way around the tower. But what caught Gustave's eye the most was the enormous sculpture on top of the tower. It was a giant, shiny, silver skull. The slide came from its open mouth like an enormous metal tongue.

"It's amazing," Gustave sighed in astonishment.

He had never seen anything like it. It was utterly entrancing. He hadn't realised he had stopped dead in his tracks until his father's head appeared over his shoulder and whispered enigmatically.

"You think that's amazing? You haven't seen anything yet."

Gustave gave a wide, excited grin.

"Let's go then!" he shouted impatiently. He grabbed his father's hand and began to run eagerly towards the tower.

Christine watched in amusement as Erik was dragged behind her excitable son, looking slightly stunned. As the pair disappeared through the gates of Phantasma, she gave a contented chuckle. She couldn't believe how well things had turned out for her and Gustave. Not only had she been freed of a husband who she had never loved, and who in recent years had treated her less than kindly, but she had found her soul mate again.

She had always wondered what kind of a father Erik would have been to her son. She was ashamed to say that she never thought he would have been a particularly good parent. He was so temperamental, and she could not see him having much patience with a child. Needless to say, however, he had proved her wrong. He had shown nothing but affection towards his son so far, and had been extremely tolerant of Gustave's inquisitive nature, which she admitted that she occasionally had little patience for. She knew, of course, that there would be times ahead where there would be arguments and disputes, but this just made her feel all the more content that it would be Erik she would be quarrelling with, and not Raoul.

Erik and Gustave were out of sight by the time Christine reached the gates to Phantasma. The skull slide was about a hundred metres away, the base of it concealed behind row upon row of sideshows. She decided to head for it, knowing that it would have been the first thing that Gustave would have wanted to ride on. As she weaved her way through the first few stalls, and through the crowds of excited people, she looked around in wonder. She couldn't believe that Erik…her Erik…had created all of this. It was simply magnificent.

She was unaware that a mysterious cloaked figure was watching from behind a stall. He stared at Christine, on his face an expression that spoke both anger and a deep-seated sorrow and loss. He knew she was alone; he had just seen Gustave and the demon running through the crowds excitedly, heading further into the park.

He picked his moment carefully. He waited till she was facing away from him, and then he sneaked up behind her. He leaned his head over her shoulder and whispered, "Hello, Christine."

She jumped, and her breath hitched slightly. She knew that voice, but she thought he was long gone. She composed herself and turned to face the man, trying to hide the concern and slight terror she felt at finding him here. As she looked him in the eye, she was hit by the overwhelming look of hatred mixed with grief that was plastered all over his face.

"Raoul," she whispered sadly, never breaking eye contact. Now that he was here, looking her in the eye, she suddenly felt incredibly guilty. This man had been her husband for nearly eleven years, and it had been all too easy to end it. Her eyes began to fill with tears as she thought about her betrayal.

His expression softened as he heard the helplessness in that one word, and all the rage and resentment dissipated. All that was left was the hurt.

They gazed at each other in silence for what felt like hours. At length, Christine regained her wits. The tears dried up in her eyes, and she put on a stern expression.

"Raoul, why are you here?" she asked him, betraying no hint of emotion.

Suddenly, at the sight of her emotionless expression, all the anger flooded back to him.

"What am I doing here?" he almost shouted. His face contorted in rage. "I'm here to take what's mine. What he has stolen from me with his crafty trickster ways!"

"Nothing here is yours, Raoul," she replied calmly.

"You are my wife, Christine. You are mine!" he confronted her.

"I do not belong to you! You lost me a long time ago. The moment you became a drunk and threw our entire fortune away! Our entire life gambled away in a split second all because of your selfish ways!" she shouted at him, all self-control lost.

"You were never really mine in the first place, Christine. You were always his! All those times you said you loved me, you were picturing him. All the times we made love, you were thinking about him! Always him! So now I'm making you mine. Either I have you, or nobody does!" he raged at her.

"I will never be yours Raoul. I will never love you like I love him. He is a thousand times the man you have become," she calmly said to him, her composure regained.

She turned to walk away from him.

"NO!" he growled at her angrily. He reached out and grabbed her arm. He began to drag her away, back towards the gates. She began to holler and struggle. People around them began to stare at the arguing pair.

"Raoul! Let go of me!" she screamed at him. Some men standing around in a group quickly ran over to aid her distress calls. Before they reached her, however, she lunged at Raoul, and punched him straight in the jaw. He howled and let go, grasping his chin with both hands. She took this opportunity to throw her knee out. It hit him square in the groin, and his legs buckled.

While he was paralysed on the floor, she turned and fled, heading straight for the tower slide.

Raoul recovered quickly, and picked himself up off the floor. He then made a run for it into the crowds of people, in a different direction to Christine.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

Erik watched as Gustave climbed to the top of the slide tower. It was a long way up, but he knew that his son was safe. He had built the tower himself after all. When Gustave was half way up, Erik began to wonder where Christine had got to. She had only been just behind them, unless she had stopped at some of the sideshows. He supposed this must be the case. Either that or she had gotten lost in the crowds of people. Either way, he would go and look for her as soon as his son had come down the slide.

Erik watched as Gustave reached the top. The boy stopped at the crest of the slide, and waved down enthusiastically. Erik waved back, grinning happily. He watched as Gustave threw himself over the apex of the slide and began flying down the smooth metal, laughing inanely. When he reached the bottom, he jumped up and ran to his father.

"That was brilliant!" he shouted heartily.

"I'm glad you enjoyed it," Erik chuckled at the boy.

"May I go on it again?" the boy asked, smiling sweetly.

"Well, we had better go and look for your mother first," Erik replied.

"Oh please, father. Just once more quickly. Mother will be alright. Look…there she is now," Gustave answered. He was pointing to a gap in the crowd several metres away. Sure enough, there was Christine jogging towards them. She was too far away for the men to see her expression.

"You're right, there she is. Very well, off you go," he smiled down at his son.

Gustave grinned up at his father, before spinning around and running back towards the base of the tower stairs.

Erik turned back to watch Christine approach. Before she reached him he knew something was wrong. Her face was streaked with tears, and she looked terrified.

"Christine," Erik began but before he could finish she had thrown herself into his arms and was clutching at the fabric on his chest desperately. She was shaking uncontrollably and sobbing hysterically.

"He's here," she sobbed loudly, gazing up into his eyes, fear flowing from her own.

"Who?" Erik asked in confusion.

"Raoul. He's here. He tried to take me but I ran away. He said he was going to take what was his," she trailed off as another loud sob erupted from her chest. Erik's face was contorted in rage and concern.

"Where is he now?" he demanded seriously.

"I don't know. I kicked him and ran away," she answered.

"It's going to be ok, Christine. Take Gustave back to my aerie with you. Mr Squelch will escort you. I will go and find Raoul," he told her as calmly as he could while the anger boiled inside him.

"OK," she answered trying to match his calmness, "where is Gustave?"

"He's on the slide," Erik answered. He turned around to show Christine where he meant. He looked to the top of the slide. Surely he should have reached the top by now, but the boy was nowhere to be seen. Erik scanned the tower stairs, and the slide. There was no sign of his son.

"Where? I can't see him." Christine asked.

"He was there just a moment ago. Just before you came over he went over to it," Erik answered in confusion. Gustave was definitely nowhere on the tower.

Erik began to panic. He knew there was only one explanation. The Vicomte.

"Raoul," Erik stated. He suddenly became overwhelmingly angry.

"Oh my God," Christine whispered breathlessly, "Erik, what are we going to do? We have to get him back!" she shouted hysterically.

Suddenly Mr Squelch came bounding towards them from the crowds.

"Sir! I just saw your boy being dragged through the park over by the mirror maze by a man in a black cloak!" Mr Squelch told him, out of breath from running.

"Why didn't you stop him you fool?" Erik demanded angrily.

"Forgive me, Sir. At first I thought the cloaked man to be you. It was only when I saw you standing here that I realised my mistake." The bulky man answered.

"Mr Squelch, take Mademoiselle Daae to the aerie. I will go after the Vicomte." Erik snarled.

"No, Erik. Let me come with you!" Christine demanded, still in a state of shock and fear.

"No, Christine. Go with Mr Squelch where I know you are safe. I will find him, I promise. He is my son too, remember," he told her gently but sternly.

She gazed into his eyes helplessly, and then nodded. He gave her an encouraging smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, and bent down to kiss her on the lips. She threw her arms around him. As he broke the kiss, she pulled him to her and hugged him tightly.

"I love you," she whispered in his ear, tears still pouring down her cheeks.

Erik reeled inside at hearing those words. Nobody had ever told him that they loved him. Not even his own mother. Her words spurred him on, and he felt even more desperate to find their son.

"I love you, too," he told her, before pulling away from her embrace. He gave her one last peck on her forehead, and then ran off into the crowds in the direction of the mirror maze.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: So…two chapters in the space of two hours!**

**Reason being…I was going to save this for a few days till my exams are completely finished. However, due to a fantastic review from Eriksangelofmusic4ever in which the whole of the plot of this chapter was revealed without me even revealing it (that's what being on the same wavelength is all about I guess xD) I am posting it now…just so you guys don't think I'm stealing ideas :P**

**SO here's chapter 6**

Chapter Six: Look at Yourself

Erik ran through the crowds as fast as his legs could carry him. He bumped into people all the way. It was so damned busy. Still he weaved his way, dodging most people, but pushing straight past others. None of these people mattered anyway. All that mattered was his son. He had only just found him. He couldn't lose him now.

Suddenly, people started to turn, and all were looking in the same direction. There was whispering and gasps. Erik looked over to where the people's attention was focussed. Coming from somewhere a short distance away, black smoke billowed high into the otherwise blue sky. The smoke seemed to be multiplying and spreading. Then, Erik saw the first of the flames, erupting from his theatre just a few hundred metres ahead of him. He cursed loudly. It had to be Raoul.

As he got closer to the theatre he realised that it was not the only thing on fire. It seemed like half the park was alight. People were fleeing the flames, and screaming, but Erik continued towards the fire, watching the world he had created slowly burning down around him.

It was then that he saw two figures, one taller and wearing a cloak, and one half his height, running into the mirror maze, half of which had already been burned to the ground. Erik bolted forward even faster, the smoke blanketing him and filling his lungs. He could see the flames eating away at the maze and he prayed to whatever god that might exist that his son stayed safe.

He reached the maze and ran straight in where he had seen the pair enter. He was instantly thrown back by the heat of the raging fire all around him. The smoke was choking him and making him feel dizzy, but still he pushed on.

He ran down corridor after corridor, searching for the boy, the heat scorching his skin. He turned suddenly around a corner, and was met by a plank of wood that smashed straight into his head. He fell flat on his back, and clasped his hands to his forehead. When he pulled his hand away, it was soaked with blood. Then, Raoul stepped out from around the corner. He threw the wood aside and stood above Erik.

"Well, well, well Monsieur le Phantom," he sneered bitterly.

"Where's Gustave?" Erik demanded, trying to get to his feet but feeling incredibly dizzy.

"Ah yes, your brat," Raoul laughed sardonically, "the boy I raised for ten years, thinking he was mine, only to find out he was the son of a demon all this time."

Erik lunged at Raoul, who grabbed him by his lapels roughly and threw him against the mirrored wall. Erik crumpled to the floor against the smashed mirror, blood flowing freely from his head wound now.

"Where is he?" Erik growled, albeit weakly.

"Boy! Come here!" Raoul shouted behind him. Gustave came running from around the corner and crouched down beside Erik.

"Father," Gustave cried, tears flowing from his eyes as he clutched at his fathers arms.

Erik tried to comfort his son. He put his arms around the boy's shoulders and pulled him close.

"Everything's going to be OK, Gustave," Erik soothed, "I won't let anything happen to you."

"You're bleeding," Gustave whimpered. He reached up to touch the wound on his father's forehead. Erik winced as the boy's finger's made contact with his wound. Gustave pulled his fingers away, covered in blood.

"I'm alright. It's not as bad as it looks," Erik tried to reassure the boy.

"Alright, enough talking!" Raoul shouted. He quickly picked the boy up by his collar and threw him back around the corner.

"Leave him alone. It's not his fault that I'm his real father! He didn't ask for any of this!" Erik bellowed at the Vicomte.

"Father? You're no father. What child could ever love you?" Raoul scorned. To illustrate his point he ripped Erik's mask and wig from his head, and threw them into the nearby flames. "Look at yourself!" he shouted.

Erik, too weak to respond or retaliate remained still.

"I said look at yourself!" Raoul bellowed. He grabbed Erik by the collar and threw him into another mirror. Raoul held Erik's face against the mirror, forcing him to look at his reflection.

"You see yourself? You're a monster. You're a demon. You don't deserve a son. You don't deserve my wife!" On the last word Raoul pulled Erik's face from the glass, only to smash is back against it with even more force. The glass beneath his cheek shattered leaving shards embedded into his skin.

Erik groaned in pain, but listened to the insults in silence, knowing that everything this man said was true.

"Actually, I've changed my mind. You do deserve Christine. The dirty little whore deserves nothing better than a dirty little demon." Raoul snarled in Erik's ear.

Erik was suddenly filled with an uncontrollable rage. He mustered strength from somewhere within himself, and whipped his body around. He punched a startled Raoul in the jaw. And then again on the cheek. On his temple. On his nose. He punched over and over again, until he heard a gunshot, and pain seared through his shoulder and down his arm.

He recoiled in agony, stumbling backwards and staring down at the bullet wound near his left shoulder. He looked back up at the man before him. Blood poured from his nose and lip, and in his hand was a gun. The pain overwhelmed Erik and he fell to his knees, clutching the hole in the top left side of his chest, just above his heart.

Raoul bent down to Erik's level, and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

"Burn in hell, devil."

He then stood and delivered a swift kick to Erik's face. Erik fell backwards onto the broken glass of the shattered mirrors that littered the metal floor. He heard Raoul's quickly retreating footsteps. He tried to yell his son's name but all that came out was a strangled moan. He could feel the flames getting nearer and nearer, the intense heat blistering his pale skin. The smoke was getting thicker and thicker. It was choking him. He couldn't breathe.

The last thing he saw before everything went black was the first of the flames licking the skin on his right hand. Then nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: First off, thank you once again for all the reviews. Every review I get makes me want to write more, which is why this chapter in being posted so soon…I was gonna leave you to stew but I thought I'd be nice and put you out of your misery :P**

**This one is a slightly longer chapter than previous ones, and took a good few hours.**

**I'm not completely happy with it but it will have to do.**

**Hope you enjoy it. Please review and tell me your thoughts…like I said before: more reviews means faster chapters :)**

Chapter Seven: A Birth Defect, Monsieur

Christine and Squelch walked back towards Erik's aerie in silence. The nest was at the top of a tall tower beside the 'Hotel Populaire', just outside the gates of Phantasma. Christine was still trembling from the shock of finding Raoul here. She had genuinely thought that she would never see him again. She had believed that he would have got on the first boat back to Paris, while she and Gustave would have spent the rest of her life in America with Erik. 'That could still be so' she told herself mentally. Before long, Erik would meet her back up at the aerie with little Gustave by his side. He would tell her that Raoul had gone home for certain now. Everything would be fine. It had to be.

Once she had assured herself of this, her mind began to wonder as she thought about the life they would soon have. Perhaps she would marry Erik. But she was still technically married to Raoul. Perhaps if she stayed in America while he returned to France, a divorce would not be necessary. Of course it didn't help that many people in America knew of her opera fame, and therefore of her marital ties to the Vicomte. Nevertheless, she was sure they would find a way around it. At least she hoped. And then maybe she and Erik could have more children. Brothers and sisters for Gustave. Children that Erik could witness the birth of, and be there for all through the long nights of crying and feeding and nightmares. And he would be there when they spoke their first words. He could teach them to sing like he had taught her.

As these thoughts circulated through her mind, Christine's mood lightened. She smiled contentedly to herself.

The pair had reached the gates of Phantasma, when suddenly, there was screaming and shouting coming from the park. Christine and Squelch, both startled, whipped their heads around to see what had happened. The sight that met their eyes was not a pleasant one. People were running in their hundreds towards the gates, and in the distance, thick, black smoke was billowing into the air. Below it, bright orange flames danced over the buildings and amusements of the park.

"Oh my God! Erik! Gustave!" Christine cried as she stared in horror at the inferno.

"Christine, go up into the aerie," Squelch spoke for the first time in a commanding voice, "I will go and find the Master and the boy."

"No, I'll come with you," Christine began but was interrupted.

"No, Madame. If anything happened to you the Master is sure to blame me for it. Please, go upstairs where I know you are safe. I will find them," Squelch instructed.

"But what if they're hurt?" Christine cried hysterically.

"I will find them, Madame. Just please make yourself safe. There's no use in you putting yourself in danger," he reasoned.

Christine sighed in defeat.

"OK, just please find them quickly. I couldn't bear it if…" she trailed off.

Squelch gave her an assuring nod, and bolted off towards the fire. Christine ran up to the tower entrance and rushed up the stairs to Erik's home. Once there, she ran to the wall facing Phantasma, which was one giant window stretching the length and height of the room. She stood before the glass, looking out in concern and waiting for the safe return of her beloved boys.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

Squelch ran through the crowds of screaming people all heading in the opposite direction. He ran past the burning theatre, and saw ahead of him the mirror maze. Or rather what was left of it; the entire thing was on fire, smoke bulging out of the roof. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man from earlier in the cloak, pulling the boy along roughly. They had fled straight out of the maze exit and disappeared into the smog. Squelch began to run after them, but the smoke was too thick. He was blinded and couldn't breathe.

When Erik didn't appear from the maze, Squelch knew something was wrong. This would have been the first place the master had come when he had learned that this was where the boy had been seen. Something told him that Erik was still inside, which was certainly not good.

Squelch debated inwardly with himself whether to go in. By going in, he was risking his own life, and there was a very good chance he would not come out. And of course, there was also the chance that the master was not even in there. But then again, what if he was? Squelch couldn't just leave him. He owed this man so much. He had given him a job, and a home. Made him feel accepted when the world had always ridiculed him.

He had decided. He had to go in; the risk that his master was in there was too great. Without a second thought, he dashed through the entrance of the maze. The smoke was so thick inside that he began to cough violently, his lungs shuddering from the lack of oxygen. He lifted his arm and held his coat sleeve over his mouth in an attempt to filter out some of the smoke. He continued further into the maze. The heat of the flames was unbearable, but still he pushed on.

He turned corner after corner, but with still no sign of Erik. A thought suddenly crossed his mind: what if Erik wasn't in here at all? What if Squelch had run needlessly into his own death trap? He was interrupted mid-thought, however, as he turned one last corner and his foot made contact with something on the floor.

"Master!" Squelch shouted. He knelt down by Erik's still form. He was covered with blood and ash, and the entire outer edge of his right shirt sleeve was on fire. Squelch quickly began thumping his palm down in an attempt to extinguish the glowing flames, which danced mockingly over the white fabric.

"Master!" he shouted again as the last of the fire on his sleeve died, to reveal charred black fabric fused to charred red skin. Erik gave no response. Squelch reached out to place two fingers on Erik's neck. There was a light patter beneath his fingers: Erik's pulse. He was still alive.

Squelch silently thanked the lord, before placing his arms under Erik's lower back. Thankful for his strength, he smoothly picked up the thin form of his master, and threw him across his shoulder, praying that he didn't cause any more damage to the already injured man.

He then stood, and began to jog back towards the exit. He found several paths blocked by fire and mounds of collapsed ceiling and wall. He wound his way through the thickening smoke and flames, until at last he saw daylight through the haze.

He emerged from the fire, covered in ash and coughing heavily. All around him buildings were burning to the ground. With a still unconscious Erik on his back, he began to make his way through the blaze. Eventually, he emerged into the part of the park not yet touched by the fire. He hurried on forward towards Erik's tower. As he ran through the gates out of Phantasma, he saw the fire service approaching. 'Took your time' he thought bitterly.

He repositioned Erik on his shoulders, and then started up the stairs to the aerie.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

Christine was pacing the room now. She couldn't bear to watch the flames anymore. She repeatedly told herself that everything would be fine. Any moment now Erik and Gustave would walk through the door, safe and sound.

She was interrupted, however, by footsteps approaching from the hallway. Before she could get to the door, it had slammed open to reveal a very unwelcome sight. Mr Squelch stood before her, covered from head to toe in ash and soot. But that was not what caused her heart to jump into her throat. It was the body thrown over said man's shoulders that sent waves of sickness passing through her stomach.

Before Christine could say anything, Squelch had bounded past her and was gently placing Erik down on the bed.

"What happened?" Christine asked quietly, evidently in complete shock, "Where's Gustave?"

"The Vicomte escaped with the boy Madame, but I believe he is unharmed. I found The Master in the mirror maze in this state," Squelch replied matter-of-factly, "he is still alive, but I must go and get help."

Christine took a few steps towards the bed as Mr Squelch hurried off through a door across the hallway. She stopped beside Erik, and broke down into tears.

He was covered head to toe in black soot. From a large gash on the side of his forehead, which must have been several inches long and indefinitely deep, came a thick line of blood, which spread across his brow and down his deformed cheek. In both cheeks were embedded shards of reflective glass, and the side of his lip was split open. Both his mask and his wig were missing, leaving his almost-bald head and twisted right cheek exposed.

There was more blood across his left shoulder, where there was a deep hole in the flesh. And the shirt on his right arm was charred and stuck to his skin. Across his right hand, from his little finger to his middle finger, the skin was blistered, burnt and bleeding.

Christine fell to her knees beside his bed, whimpering his name over and over again. She took hold of his left hand, which seemed unharmed, and pressed her face down into it. She sobbed loudly.

Suddenly, a figure burst in through the door. Christine was too distraught to look up and see who it was, until she felt a hand rest gently on her shoulder.

"Come now, my child. You are no use to him in this state," spoke a stern, yet gentle, voice.

Christine looked up at the owner of the voice. She leapt up quickly and fell straight into the arms of Madame Giry. She continued to cry, mumbling about Erik and how he was hurt.

"There, there, Christine," Madame Giry soothed, "Come now, stop crying. Let us try and heal him. Every moment we waste crying is one that could be used to save his life."

Christine pulled away, and nodded with tear-filled eyes. Madame Giry quickly set to work. She removed Erik's shirt, cutting around the areas that were fused to his right arm. She retrieved a large, shallow bowl from one of the cupboards. It was rectangular and about forty centimetres in length and half that in width. She instructed Christine to fill the bowl with cold water. She then lifted Erik up so that he was in a reclined seating position. When Christine returned with the bowl of water, she placed it on the side of the bed, and submerged Erik's entire right forearm in the liquid.

She told Christine to hold Erik's arm under the water while she tended to the other wounds. Christine sat in a chair beside the bed, stroking the unburnt index finger and thumb on Erik's right hand under the water. The burns stretched all the way up the outside of his forearm, and stopped just above his elbow. The white shirt material was still stuck to the burns.

Madame Giry sat on the other side of the bed, holding two pieces of clean, white sheet, one against the bullet wound and the other against the gash on his head.

"He's been shot," she stated when she noticed Christine watching her in confusion.

Christine gasped.

"Raoul," she declared bitterly.

"Although I have stopped most of the bleeding, I am not qualified to remove the bullet. He will need stitches too, no doubt. These will have to be done by the doctor," she told Christine calmly.

"Have you sent for a doctor?" Christine asked.

"Mr. Squelch came to fetch me straight away. I sent Miss Fleck to fetch the doctor. Mr. Squelch and Doctor Gangle have gone out to look for Gustave." Madame Giry replied reassuringly.

Moments later, Miss Fleck appeared at the door followed by a man with a black, leather bag. He looked fairly old, Christine guessed at about sixty, and he had short grey hair with a large bald patch in the centre of his head. His top lip was cloaked in a thick, bristly, grey beard. He was wearing a long, light brown overcoat with a faded black suit underneath. He had kind, watery blue eyes and his skin was wrinkled with laughter lines.

He introduced himself as Dr. Monroe, and then made his way over to Erik's bed. Madame Giry stood aside, while Dr. Monroe examined his patient.

"Severe burns on the right forearm and hand. Bullet wound to the left shoulder. Multiple surface wounds to the face caused by broken glass," the doctor spoke his observations aloud, "although what happened to the rest of his face I cannot fathom. I can only assume it was like this before the accident?" he asked Madame Giry.

"A birth defect, Monsieur," Madame Giry confirmed.

"Poor man," the doctor commented gently, pity shining from his eyes, "Well, you have handled the burns extremely well. And you were right to keep the pressure on the blood wounds. His shoulder and head will need stitches. If I may get started, ladies?" he enquired politely.

"Of course, Doctor Monroe," Madame Giry smiled, "Do you require anything else?"

"I think I have everything I need, thank you. However, my first priority is stitching the bullet wound. The cut on his head can wait; it appears to have stopped bleeding. Someone will need to remain here to hold his arm under the water," he suggested.

Christine looked to Madame Giry, silently asking for permission.

"Christine, it will not be pleasant to watch," Madame Giry warned.

"I don't care. I'm not leaving him," Christine declared confidently.

Madame Giry sighed, "Very well. If you need anything I will be across the hall."

She nodded at Christine, then turned on her heel and left the room, leaving Christine alone with the doctor.

He sat in the chair beside the bed, and set to work at cleaning Erik's shoulder wound. Christine watched him nervously. He felt her eyes on him and looked up to see her worried expression.

"Christine, wasn't it?" he asked her kindly.

"Yes, Monsieur," she replied timidly.

"Ah so you _are_ French. I thought I recognized the accent," he chuckled.

Christine smiled at the doctor, "Yes, I am from Paris."

"Ah, a lovely city. I visited once, back when I was a young man. There used to be a magnificent opera house there," he replied thoughtfully, "although I heard there was a fire there. Burnt most of the building down from what I heard."

Christine laughed inwardly. The man had no idea of the relevance of his words.

"So, what is his name?" Doctor Monroe asked, gesturing to Erik's unconscious form with a nod of his head.

"His name is Erik," she answered, her eyes flickering to his bloodied face.

"Erik," the doctor repeated distantly, "and he is your husband?" he asked inquisitively.

"Not exactly," Christine began, unsure of how to explain who Erik was to her, "I was married to another man, but it didn't work out."

"You must excuse me, Madame, I do not mean to pry," he smiled apologetically.

"No, it's OK," she assured him quickly, "it's just complicated."

"What relationship isn't, Christine?" he asked rhetorically.

She smiled. He was right.

"You may want to look away for this bit," he advised, "I'm going to try and extract the bullet."

Christine focused her attention on Erik's face. Madame Giry had washed away most of the blood from his head wound. There were still pieces of glass embedded in the skin of his usually smooth left cheek. She realised suddenly that she had never seen him sleep, and even though it was an injury-induced sleep, she still found it fascinating. Despite his injuries, his face looked peaceful compared to his usually sorrow-filled features. She just hoped that he couldn't feel the metal probe that was poking around in his chest, searching for the offending shard of metal. She was almost glad that he was unconscious. Almost.

She continued to gaze upon his sleeping face for several minutes, while Dr. Monroe removed the bullet and stitched up the hole.

"OK, Christine, I'm going to move onto his head now," the doctor announced.

Christine smiled and nodded. She glanced down at the stitching on Erik's chest. Dr. Monroe had done a good job. All of the blood had been cleaned away around the wound, although there were still blood stains down the side of his body where the doctor had not cleaned it all away. She also noticed several healed lacerations down his chest. Scars of all shapes and sizes dotted his skin, some in the form of pale pink marks, others slightly raised gashes. Christine wondered where he had received them, because they were certainly not recent wounds.

At length, the doctor spoke again, "OK, Christine, I've stitched up his head and removed the glass from his skin."

Christine glanced down and saw several tiny, bloody shards of glass in a small dish on the bedside table. She looked up at Erik's face. He had a bandage wrapped around his head over his stitches. He had several small cuts over his left cheek where the shards had been removed from, but none were bleeding and most had scabbed over already.

"Thank you Dr Monroe," Christine smiled at him gently.

"You're welcome, Madame," he answered in a friendly voice, "Now, if you don't mind, Christine, I need to see to the burns." He gestured to Erik's right arm.

"Oh, yes, of course," she replied.

The doctor moved over to the right side of the bed, and took over holding Erik's arm in the water. Christine then stood and moved to sit in the chair on Erik's other side. The doctor pulled a pair of tweezers from his bag, and began pulling the shirt material from Erik's arm. After the length of time it had been soaking, the material came away easily to reveal the blistered skin beneath. Christine gasped at the sight of the burns.

"These burns are quite severe," the doctor commented, "but they have been soaking for a long time. All the heat should have dissipated by now."

He lifted Erik's now bare arm from the water, placed the bowl of water on the floor, and gently placed the injured arm down on a towel at his side. He then lightly dabbed at the skin to dry it. Christine's eyes welled up as she watched the doctor tend to his skin. She hoped that he hadn't been awake when the fire had done this to him; it must have been agony.

She watched silently as the doctor wrapped Erik's forearm in bandages, which extended from his hand to half way up his bicep, leaving his thumb and the end inch or so of his fingers uncovered. When he had finished, he stood and began to pack his tools away.

"Although he has several serious wounds, none are particularly life threatening," the doctor told Christine, "However, there is a great risk of infection due to the ash from the fire. For now, though, he is stable. I will return in two days time to check on him."

"Thank you, Doctor," Christine said sincerely, "I don't know what would have happened if you had not come to help him."

"It is my job, Christine," he chuckled kindly.

Madame Giry appeared in the doorway, and thanked the doctor.

"It was my pleasure, Madame," he replied, "The bandages on his arm and shoulder will need to be changed in twenty-four hours time, and the one on his head removed altogether. I trust you can manage that?"

"Of course, Monsieur," Madame Giry nodded, "and once again, thank you."

He nodded at her and gave her a friendly smile.

"Madame, Christine," he bowed his head and headed out of the door.

"Is there any sign of Gustave?" Christine asked hopefully.

"Not yet, but they are still out looking for him," Madame Giry replied regretfully.

Christine looked down in disappointment but gave a slight nod.

"I'm going to clean him up," Christine muttered, gesturing to the sleeping man on the bed.

"OK, again, if you need me I'll be next door," she replied, before turning and leaving.

Christine got up and walked into the kitchen. She filled a bowl with warm water and picked up a clean cloth. She sat back down beside Erik and began to wipe away the dirt and blood from his chest and face. When she had finished she removed Erik's shoes and shuffled the bed sheets out from underneath his still body. She pulled them over him up to his chest, and then crawled into the bed beside him. She snuggled up to his left arm, avoiding touching his shoulder, and held his hand.

As she watched his chest slowly rise and fall, the tears began to flood from her eyes. Everything had gone so wrong. The love of her life, the one who was meant to protect her, was unconscious and broken. And her little Gustave was out somewhere with a man who wasn't his father, and she had no idea where to look for him.

"Please, wake up, Erik," she whispered desperately through the tears, "just wake, up, please. I need you."

When she received no response she leaned her head forward across the pillow and buried her face in the side of his neck, letting the tears fall silently down her cheeks.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: So I guess you guys have been wondering what's happened to our favourite fop and his little prisoner.**

**Well you're about to find out in this chapter…**

**Here it is…I present you with chapter 8**

**Please enjoy and happy reading =D**

Chapter Eight: Don't get a lot of French People in Here

Raoul stopped walking once they had reached the centre of town. He looked back towards the now obscured Phantasma, and saw the black smoke still rising from what must have been nothing but a pile of cinders by now. He smiled with satisfaction, and looked down at the boy who stood wriggling at his side, held firmly by the back of his collar. He was still thrashing around in Raoul's grasp, tears falling from his eyes, yet with nothing but anger on his face.

"Stop squirming boy, you're getting on my nerves," Raoul sneered at Gustave.

"Just get off me! I want to go back to Mother and Father," the boy growled back, standing as tall as he could and glaring at his used-to-be father.

"I'm your father Gustave! I raised you for ten years you ungrateful little bastard!" he shouted angrily.

"You were never my father! You never played with me. You didn't love me!" Gustave yelled back, tears still flooding from his eyes.

"Oh and you think that demon back there loves you? You're nothing to him. He left you before you were even born! That's how much you mean to him," Raoul scoffed.

Gustave's anger seemed to suddenly dissipate as he thought about what Raoul had just said. Raoul knew he had said just the right thing; Gustave didn't know why the monster had left France. For all Gustave knew, Erik might have known about his son but chosen to leave anyway. Raoul now knew how to play his cards, and he quickly changed his tactics.

"That's right, Gustave," Raoul falsely softened his expression, "he didn't want you. He even abandoned your mother to get away from you before you were born. But I wanted you, Gustave. I always treated you as my own. I have loved you for your entire life more than he ever will."

"But, he's been so nice to me since we got here," Gustave said quietly, a look of confusion on his face, "If he didn't want me, why would he be nice to me?" he asked.

"Because he wanted to be with your mother," Raoul answered, "he wanted to split your mother and me. This is all how he planned it, Gustave. They both planned this. They wanted to get rid of you so they could be together without having to have you around."

"You're lying!" Gustave answered weakly and with little conviction.

"I'm sorry, Gustave," Raoul feigned pity, "But answer me this son: have I ever lied to you?"

Gustave paused in thought. He then looked up into Raoul's eyes and answered quietly, "Yes. You told me you were my father."

"But I only told you that to protect you. Because I knew that your real father never wanted you, and I wanted you to feel loved," Raoul answered, "I was wrong to lie to you, Gustave. I will never lie to you again, I promise, but you have to trust me."

Gustave paused in contemplation. He didn't know what to believe. Raoul had just told him so many things he had never even considered. Why had his father left him before he was even born? The only explanation he could see was the one that Raoul had given him: Erik didn't want him. And now it all made sense why they had come here. Mother had wanted to find Erik and get rid of the son she never wanted at the same time.

Gustave suddenly felt betrayed and heartbroken, and alone. But he looked up into the kindly smiling face of the man who had brought him up his whole life. He had known that Gustave wasn't his son, but had cared for him anyway. And now he was all Gustave had.

"I trust you," Gustave replied, and Raoul's smile widened.

"Thank you, my son. Now let us get out of here and find somewhere to get some supper and stay the night."

Gustave nodded and they set off further into the town in search of an inn.

They walked for an hour or so, until Raoul decided that they were far enough from Phantasma that they would not be found that night. He spotted an inn a few hundred metres ahead, and pulled Gustave towards it.

The inn was relatively small, with a small restaurant and bar, the latter of which suited Raoul's needs perfectly he thought. Raoul and Gustave sidled up to the bar, where they were met by the landlord.

"Evening, sirs," the landlord greeted cheerfully, "suppose you two gentleman would like a room for the night?"

"That is correct," Raoul answered the man in his heavily accented English, "just a room for my son and I, and only for tonight."

"Oh, Frenchmen are you?" the landlord asked, grinning welcomingly, "Don't get a lot of French people in here. They tend to like the higher class accommodation. Not that my inn isn't high class, sir," the landlord chuckled.

"This inn is perfectly suited to our needs, thank you," Raoul answered, slightly irritated.

"Of course, sir," the landlord answered, sensing Raoul's tone, "I'll just send someone to show you to your room. Then I'll expect you'll be wanting some food gentlemen?"

"Yes, we are both quite hungry," Raoul answered.

The landlord nodded, and turned around to face a door in the back of the bar.

"Bill!" he yelled, startling Raoul and Gustave.

On cue, a skinny boy, no more than seventeen years old Raoul guessed, appeared stumbling from the door.

"This is Bill," the landlord told Raoul and Gustave, "Bill, take these two fine gentlemen up to their room. Room 7," he told the boy.

Bill nodded and smiled at the guests.

"This way if you please, sir," Bill requested, as he turned and began walking out through a separate door in the bar, towards a flight of stairs.

Gustave and Raoul followed Bill out of the bar and up the stairs. They were led along a short corridor lined with numbered doors; each one they passed was a number higher than the last. Gustave counted six doors before Bill finally stopped and handed Raoul a key.

"This is your room, sirs," he gestured to the number seven on the door, "Dinner will be served from six-thirty."

"Thank you very much," Raoul thanked the boy, and handed him a few coins.

Bill thanked Raoul, before scuttling off, counting the coins in his hand.

Raoul placed the key in the lock, and turned it smoothly. He pushed open the door and stood aside, gesturing for Gustave to enter. The boy smiled politely at him, before walking through the door.

The room was fairly large. One of the larger rooms the inn had, Raoul suspected. Two beds were pushed against one wall, with enough space to walk between the two. Against another wall was a desk with writing materials ready for the guest's use. Against the third wall was a large bookcase filled with tattered books of all sizes. Against the final wall was a dressing table, which stood beside a large wooden wardrobe. The accommodation was certainly not as high standard as that of the de Chagny estate, but it would suffice.

After making themselves comfortable in their temporary lodgings, the pair ventured down into the restaurant, where they ate a meal of beef and steamed vegetables. Well fed, they returned to their room. Raoul opened the wardrobe to find several old shirts, left over from previous visitors he supposed. He pulled one out and handed it to Gustave.

"You can sleep in this tonight," he told the boy.

Gustave took the shirt and laid it out on his bed. He then began to remove his clothes, blackened and dirtied from the smoke and ash. He pulled the clean shirt over his head. It was made to fit a grown man, so it reached Gustave's knees comfortably. He then clambered into his bed, and watched as Raoul extinguished the lights.

When all the lights were out, Raoul climbed into his own bed and made himself comfortable.

"Goodnight," Gustave began, and paused before deciding on completing his sentence with a single word: "father."

Raoul grinned in satisfaction before whispering back, "Goodnight, my son."

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

Two days of walking and staying at various inns later, Raoul and Gustave reached the docks. Raoul had planned to catch a ship to France that afternoon, and so far everything had gone to plan. He and Gustave were currently sat in a small café on the docklands eating lunch. The ship was due to leave in just under two hours.

"What will we do when we get back to France, Father?" Gustave enquired.

"We shall go back to our home and carry on with our lives, son," Raoul answered cheerfully, "of course we must alert the French police of the dangers of that monster."

"But they will be in America won't they, Father?" Gustave asked, feeling slightly confused, "Why should the police in France need to know about them?"

"Gustave, that demon was quite clearly insane. Who knows what he may do? What if he comes to France with the intention of killing us both?"

"He wouldn't do that, would he?" Gustave asked looking horrified.

"He is a madman. I have no doubt that he would think nothing of slicing both our throats," Raoul warned.

Raoul grinned inconspicuously at the look of fear in Gustave's eyes. It had been all too easy to brainwash the child. Everything was going to plan.

An hour or so later, Raoul and Gustave left the café and headed for their ship. They joined the queue of passengers waiting to get on, Gustave looking around himself fearfully for any sign of his murderous father. Raoul, however, was feeling extraordinarily confident. As soon as they were on this ship, it was plain sailing, so to speak. Once they reached France, his plan would fall into place, and that so called Phantom would never be able to see his son again.

In his assertion of his inevitable success, Raoul failed to see the group of journalists standing by the other side of the docks. They were taking photographs of the passengers as they boarded the ship.

"Hey Frank," one reporter spoke to his companion, "Isn't that that French Count? De Chagny?"

"Sure is," Frank replied, "And that's his son with him. But where's his wife? That famous opera singer…Christine Daae?"

"Frank, I'm sensing some juicy gossip on this one," the reporter said, rubbing his hands together greedily, "If he's returning to France without his wife, something big must'a happened. You getting pictures?"

"Sure am," Frank replied, his camera flashing rapidly, "this is gonna get us the big bucks!" he laughed greedily.

They watched as Raoul and Gustave boarded the ship, and watched it leave the docks, before running back to get the story published, ready for the next day's paper.


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: So we are back to Erik and Christine in this Chapter.**

**Will Erik wake up? Or will he die? :O**

**Only kidding…no way could I kill Erik!**

**So anyways yeah, enjoy it. Here it is…Chapter 9!**

**Keep the reviews coming! They make me happy =)**

Chapter Nine: Our Son Needs You

Days passed, and Erik had shown little improvement. The bandage from his right arm and head had now been removed, leaving the long, stitched-up gash across his forehead exposed, as well as the scalded skin of his arm. The burns that covered his forearm and hand looked much healthier, the skin now less red and starting to heal. The small, relatively insignificant cuts that littered his face were beginning to disappear. However the wound on his left shoulder, the remnant of the bullet once embedded within the flesh, had shown little sign of healing. Infection had set in, and a comatose Erik was suffering from an intense fever.

He had shown no signs of waking since the fire, and his rapidly worsening condition had Christine on edge. She barely left his bedside, preferring to sit with him and try to cool his fever. She spent hours dabbing his head and neck with a damp cloth, washing away the sweat produced from the vigorous shaking that came hand in hand with his high temperature.

She prayed every night that he would recover soon. But she also prayed for her son. There had been no sign of little Gustave in the past days, and with each day that passed, Christine felt more and more alone. The day after the fire, when Squelch and Gangle had failed to return with the boy, the police had been called in. They had questioned Christine about Raoul and her son; where they might have gone and where to start looking. Christine had supplied as much information as she could, but with little consequence. The police had made no progress in discovering the whereabouts of her son.

Christine was not particularly worried for Gustave's safety. She did not believe that Raoul would harm the boy; he had after all spent the last ten years believing he was the boy's father, so no doubt he had an emotional connection to her son. She just feared that she would never see him again. What if they never found Gustave? She could not imagine being permanently separated from the thing she loved most in the whole world. She had found Erik, but was losing Gustave the price? Gustave had always been her little piece of Erik when the real thing was not there, but now it seemed that Erik was the piece of Gustave she had left, now that he was gone. She almost laughed at the irony.

As she gazed down upon Erik's trembling body, his breathing short and sharp as he mumbled unintelligible words in his delirium, her tears began to fall thick and fast from her exhausted eyes. She wanted this to be over. She wanted to find her son, and for Erik to wake up. Why couldn't her life go right just this once? All she had ever known was heartbreak. Her mother and father had died when she was just a child, leaving her completely alone in the world. But then Erik had come, and she had finally felt loved and protected again. He had been her angel of music, and her salvation. But as cruel fate would have it, they were torn apart, and she was forced to be alone again except for that one piece of Erik that lived within his son.

Years later, she had finally found him again, and at last she had believed that everything was right. But once again fate intervened. She was alone again, more so than she had ever been before. And just for once, she wanted some peace, some happiness. But fate always had other ideas.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

The next morning, Christine was awoken by the crash of the door slamming open, followed by fast approaching footsteps. She had once again fallen asleep in the chair at Erik's side, her head resting on the side of the bed. She was startled as, before she had fully awoken, something was shoved in front of her face.

She rubbed her bleary eyes with the base of her palms, before taking the object from her intruder. She looked down to see a newspaper in her hands, and before she had even glanced at the headlines she looked up at her visitor. Madame Giry was stood over Christine, breathing heavily as though she had been running, her eyes wide.

"Christine, stop gawking at me child and read the front page!" Madame Giry sighed exasperatedly.

Christine once again rubbed her eyes, before looking down at the paper. She suddenly jumped out of her seat, startling Giry. She glanced at Madame Giry, shock evident on her features, and then once again looked down at the paper in disbelief.

'_Viscount and son board ship to Calais without opera-famed Viscountess'_

Christine held the paper in one hand before her, lifting her other to cover her mouth as she let out a shocked sob. She began to cry harder as she looked down at the photo underneath. It showed a grinning Raoul boarding the ship, with the smaller form of Gustave looking behind him, looking terribly frightened.

Christine dropped the paper as Madame Giry embraced her comfortingly.

"There, there, Christine," she cooed, "at least we know where Raoul has taken Gustave. We know where to look for him."

"But in the picture," Christine forced out around sobs, "he looks so scared!"

"We will find him soon, Christine," she tried to comfort the distraught woman in her arms, "as soon as Erik wakes up we can return to France."

"But what if he doesn't wake up?" Christine cried hysterically.

"Christine Daae, don't you dare talk like that," Madame Giry said sternly, "he _will_ wake up and he _will_ be fine."

At length, Christine replied with an unconvincing, "I know."

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

Later that night, Christine sat alone at Erik's bedside, his uninjured hand clasped tightly in hers. His fever had subsided now, and the infection in his shoulder seemed to be going. His face looked exhausted, probably from fighting the fever, Christine thought. Once again he looked peaceful, and Christine gazed upon his face deep in thought.

She had been shocked by the newspaper earlier that day. As relieved as she was to see Gustave alive and, as far as she could see, unharmed, she couldn't help but feel that Raoul returning to France was not a good thing. Here in America, it was Erik's turf, but in France, Raoul certainly had the upper hand.

But of course none of it mattered while Erik remained unconscious. She could not even consider returning to France without him, so finding Gustave all depended on Erik's recovery.

As tears filled her eyes, she began to beg.

"Erik, please, please wake up," she whispered helplessly, "you have to wake up. I can't do this on my own, please."

She paused. Did his hand just twitch in hers? She was sure she felt a squeeze on her fingers.

She continued, "Erik, I need you, please. Our son needs you. You have to wake up, please."

She paused again. That time he definitely squeezed her hand. It was barely a squeeze; it lacked any strength. But it was movement. She watched his face hopefully as she began to whisper his name over and over again. She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, and slowly his eyes opened just a fraction.

"Erik?" she asked quietly.

He suddenly took a deep breath and opened his eyes almost completely. He turned his head towards the voice that had awoken him from his infinitely deep sleep, and saw the face of an angel.

She was so beautiful, and she was gazing at him, and smiling with…what? Relief? Suddenly she said his name again, and his senses flooded back to him. His eyes came fully into focus and he saw that the angel was, in fact, Christine.

"What happened?" he asked her groggily, the words coming out lazily and barely comprehensible.

Christine's smile suddenly disappeared and was replaced by a look of overwhelming sadness.

"Raoul took Gustave. He took him to your mirror maze, and set it on fire," Christine began to tell him.

As her words dawned on him, he suddenly remembered. The heat. The smoke. Mirrors reflecting fire all around him. And the Vicomte, with a gun in his hand. He suddenly felt a sharp pain in his shoulder as he remembered the gunshot.

"What happened to Gustave?" Erik asked, now slightly more clear-headed.

"Raoul took him and left you to die in the maze. Mr Squelch and Doctor Gangle were out looking for them for days, but they found nothing," Christine told him, barely holding back her tears.

Erik was suddenly hit by overwhelming grief. His son, who he had only just found, had been stolen away by the Vicomte. He tried to lift his right arm to his face, but winced as he felt pain shoot all the way up his forearm. He looked down and saw the angry red blisters that lined his skin, and gasped at the sight.

"When Mr Squelch found you, the fire had already reached you," Christine explained as he looked down at his arm in confusion, "Luckily only your sleeve had caught fire."

He looked up at Christine, and saw the grief in her eyes, and he cursed himself for letting Raoul get away with his son.

"It's all my fault," he said, mainly to himself, "I let him get away."

"No, it's not your fault," Christine soothed, "you did all that you could. Nobody could expect more than that, except yourself."

Erik broke eye contact with Christine as he felt the shame and guilt rising within him. Christine leaned forward and put her arms around his neck, stroking the back of his head tenderly. He silently cursed himself for not being stronger; for not being able to protect his own son.

Several minutes later, Christine pulled away to look into his eyes.

"We'll find him," she soothed, stroking his cheek softly.

"How? We don't know where they went," Erik replied, unable to keep the helplessness from his voice.

Christine bent down and picked up the discarded newspaper from earlier that day. She held it out above him over the bed so that he could see it lying down, and gestured for him to read it with a nod. He looked up at the paper, and his eyes widened as he read the headline.

"He's going back to Paris!" he stated. Christine nodded.

"Then we know where to find him," Erik grinned, and began to shift.

He threw off the bedcovers, and winced as he jolted his shoulder. His head was thumping and a wave of sickness passed through his body. He closed his eyes against the pain and slowly began to slide his legs out, still feeling incredibly light-headed, when Christine stopped him by holding his knees down.

"You're not going anywhere!" she stated firmly.

"But we must leave for France immediately!" he argued weakly, his head spinning.

"Erik, you have just woken from a coma that has lasted four days. You have only this evening recovered from a fever. You're staying put until I decide you are well enough."

Erik looked taken aback.

"But we must go as soon as possible. What about Gustave?" he disputed.

"I do not believe Raoul will hurt Gustave. But leaving for France in your state will certainly harm you. There is no way I am risking losing you, so you will stay in this bed for as long as I say you should." She declared decisively.

Erik bowed his head in defeat, and let her wrap the bed sheets back over him.

Christine looked down into his eyes. How she had missed seeing those eyes. He still looked exhausted. She reached out and stroked the disfigured side of his face. It amazed her how she hardly noticed his deformity any more. All she saw was her Erik, her angel of music. She smiled down at him lovingly, and he returned the smile. She leaned down to meet his lips and kissed him softly.

As she pulled away, he pulled open the bed covers, and she slid in beside him. She pressed herself into his side, carefully avoiding his injuries. They laid their heads on the pillow so that they were facing one another, noses touching. They gazed into one another's eyes, neither wanting to look away. Eventually, Erik's exhaustion got the better of him, and his eyes slowly slid shut.

"I love you," Christine whispered, adjusting her head so she could kiss the tip of his nose.

"I love you," he whispered back, too exhausted to open his eyes.

Christine smiled lovingly, and then closed her own eyes, welcoming a sleep in which she would fall under just that little bit more content.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: OK so chapter 10…**

**Surprised I got this far to be perfectly honest. I never stick to anything for long usually.**

**Good news is I've got the rest of the story planned, so I have no excuse not to update often.**

**There will be approximately 20 chapters altogether, so we are about half way already, although I might extend bits so it could be longer.**

**So anyway, we're staying with Erik and Christine for this chapter.**

**And be warned…there are adult themes *wink wink* towards the end, but nothing too graphic because I'm so immature that I can't physically write anything graphic without giggling inanely :D**

**So yeah, enjoy :P**

Chapter Ten: I Cannot Lose Him

A week had passed since Erik had awoken from his coma, and his condition had improved endlessly. The burns on his arms were fast becoming old scars, and the gash across his head was almost completely closed. The infection that had plagued his shoulder had disappeared, and it was healing fast, although his left arm, currently held in a sling, was still significantly weaker than his right, and even slight movements still caused pain to shoot through his chest. He was now allowed out of bed to eat and wash, although Christine insisted that he spent the rest of the time either in bed or sitting in his chair.

He could not deny that he enjoyed the attention; Christine refused to leave his side unless absolutely necessary and she waited on him hand and foot. After ten years of separation, her constant presence was unfamiliar, but incredibly comforting. He loved the time they had to spend alone together, although he was more than aware of the seemingly perpetual absence of his son.

Christine had assured him that the Vicomte would not hurt the boy, and as much as Erik trusted Christine, he couldn't help but wonder if she was speaking out of naivety. Of course she would want to believe that the man she had spent ten years of marriage with would not hurt her son, but the man was clearly no longer in his right mind. He was definitely not the boy he was ten years ago, who even Erik had to agree, Christine was better off with. How he regretted leaving her with that man. If only he had stayed that night, who knows where they would be now? Happy and all together somewhere, with their son beside them.

Whilst he dreamt about the life that might have been, he was sat in his chair in the aerie. Christine was bustling around in the kitchen cooking some dinner. His chair was situated so that he could look out at Phantasma. At least, what was left of it. Only the side closest to the aerie had been left undamaged. Beyond that, all that could be seen were the black, charred remains of the vast city of wonders that had once stood there. All the lights that used to shine so brightly that they stood out against the midday sun, gone. The world Erik had spent the past year building, and the nine years before that earning the money to build it, burned to the ground in minutes.

He was only relieved that he had made even more money since it had opened than it had cost to build. Although, most of that money was now owed to the banks who had loaned him the extra funds in the first place. He calculated that he had enough money left to live comfortably for the next five or so years. But what about beyond that? He would have to find a job, to provide for his new family, once they had Gustave back. Gustave. Why was he worrying about money when he hadn't even found his son yet? Why was he wasting time sitting here, when he could be out looking for him?

He was decided. They had to leave now; he had spent far too long recovering from the injuries inflicted by the same madman who now had his son. They could wait no longer. He stood from his chair and headed for the kitchen.

Christine was startled by his entrance, and she put on her angry face.

"Erik what on Earth are you doing? You know you aren't supposed to be walking around," she lectured him.

"Hush, Christine, I am not an invalid," he shook his head, "I am perfectly capable of standing."

Christine shook her head at him, before sighing and turning back to the stove, where various pots and pans were simmering and bubbling away.

"We must leave tonight, Christine. We have left it far too long already. We cannot wait any longer."

Christine dropped the spoon she held in her hand and turned to face him.

"Erik, you are still not well," she began.

"I am well enough," he interrupted, "and the ship to France will take another week. I will have plenty of time to recover."

Christine looked uncertainly into his eyes. It was true that the ship would take almost a week, and in that time Erik was sure to have recovered unendingly. And the sooner they left, the sooner they could find Gustave. They looked into each other's eyes, Erik's asking for her trust, and Christine's telling him that she wanted to give him that trust, but was too afraid. Eventually Erik spoke the words that his eyes were saying.

"Christine, trust me."

She looked into his eyes for a second longer, and then nodded, flashing him an uncertain smile. He smiled back confidently, and held his right arm open to her. She shuffled forward into his one-armed embrace, and rested her head upon his shoulder. He held her tightly against his chest, and buried his face in her hair.

"Have I told you I love you yet?" Christine mumbled into his shoulder.

Erik chuckled softly, "a few times. But I never get tired of hearing it."

"I love you," she told him as she kissed his shoulder softly.

"I love you, too," he replied quietly, burying his face further into Christine's hair.

"Well, well, well, Erik," came a voice from the door, "You are looking better."

Erik and Christine broke apart, turning to face to doorway, where Madame Giry stood, smiling in amusement at the pair. Christine smiled, while Erik blushed furiously. He was unused to intimacy as it was, never mind being watched during an intimate moment, and especially whilst he was unmasked.

"Good evening, Madame," Christine greeted, smiling sweetly, "I'm just making supper if you would like to join us?"

"Thank you, Christine, but I must get back to Meg. I have just stopped by to see how our Phantom is getting on," Madame Giry replied, looking pointedly at Erik.

"Very well thank you, Madame. Well enough to leave for France tonight," Erik stated.

Madame Giry looked suddenly shocked.

"Erik, you have only been out of your coma for a week. You cannot possibly travel to France."

"It has been decided, Madame," Erik declared unwaveringly.

"But Erik, you are famous in France. The Phantom of the Opera, you are a wanted man," she whispered urgently.

"It has been ten years since I left France. No doubt they will think me dead and will have called off the search long ago," he told her confidently.

"But Erik, people do not forget that easily. If you walk into France with a mask on your face and with Christine at your side, people will notice you."

"Then we will hide ourselves. I have a friend back in Paris who will gladly let us stay," Erik assured. Madame Giry made to argue, but was interrupted by Erik's stern, but passionate words, "Madame, my son is in France in the care of a madman; a man who tried to kill me. Every day we remain here is another day that Gustave is alone, and possibly in danger. He is a part of me that I never dreamed I could have, and I cannot lose him." Erik's eyes welled up as he spoke, and Giry was silenced.

Christine gently took hold of Erik's free hand and stood beside him.

"He's right," was all she said.

Madame Giry looked at the pair, and saw the love flowing between them, and the love they held for their son. They were right, they had to find him.

"At least wait until the morning. No doubt one more night will make a great difference, especially with your rate of improvement."

Erik looked ready to argue, but he was stopped as Christine moved around in front of him to face him. She looked up into his eyes, and he down into hers.

"Perhaps waiting until tomorrow morning wouldn't be such a terrible idea. We need to make plans after all."

He melted under her gaze, and nodded. He could deny her nothing.

"Tomorrow morning," he confirmed with a sigh.

She smiled at him and moved forward into his embrace.

"I shall return in the morning to see you off," Madame Giry announced as she smiled at the couple.

"Thank you, Madame. You have been most helpful over the last few days," Christine thanked, turning around to face her whilst still in Erik's protective one-armed hold.

"It was all my pleasure, Christine," she smiled, and then turned on her heel and let herself out.

Christine once again turned to face Erik. She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, whilst he encircled her waist with his one free arm.

"Just think, in little over a week we will have our son back," Christine sighed contentedly, gazing into his eyes.

"Christine," Erik began, his face showing the dark shadow of doubt he felt at her words, "it will not be easy to get him back. It may be a long process; the Vicomte is unlikely to give the boy up so easily."

"I know," she told him, dropping her gaze, "but I can always hope."

When she didn't lift her eyes, Erik whispered, "Christine, look at me."

She looked up, her eyes shining with the build-up of unshed tears.

"We will find him," he told her confidently, but gently, "I promise you, we'll get him back."

She looked into his eyes for a long while, searching for any sign of wavering conviction. When she found none, she nodded, and gave him an affectionate smile.

He grinned back at her, before bending down and capturing her lips in a soft kiss.

For a long time they just held each other, raining each other in chaste kisses, enjoying the feel of one another's lips. As time went on their kisses became hungrier, and more explorative. Lips moulded against lips, tongue against tongue. At length, Christine pulled away, her eyes darkening. Erik gazed at her with hungry eyes, licking his lips softly. She took his hand in hers, and began walking backwards, leading him into the main room where the bed was situated. She paused beside it, and stood on her tiptoes, reaching up to meet his lips with her own again. As she kissed him passionately, her hands wandered down to his shirt buttons, and she began to release them slowly.

When she had undone the bottom button, she broke away from his lips and reached up to untie the fabric sling that held his left arm up across his chest. She supported his arm, lowering it slowly to his side, and he winced slightly at the movement. Once it was hanging comfortably down beside him, she slid her hands under his open shirt, and ran her fingers up his scarred chest. She slid her hands up and over his neckline, pulling the material down backwards over his shoulders. His shirt fell away easily down his back, exposing his top half. She ran her hands up and down the skin on his chest and stomach, causing him to shiver.

He reached forward, and began to untie her dress. He pulled at the lacing but with only one hand, it was an impossible task. He sighed in exasperation at his incapability, but Christine reached her own hands up to take over. He dropped his arm, and watched her in awe as she slowly, and seductively, began to remove her dress.

He sucked in a deep breath as the dress fell from her shoulders to the floor, and he was pleasantly surprised to find that she hadn't bothered to wear a corset. He gazed down at her form, completely uncovered except for the thin, lacy white underwear that sat at her hips. He licked his lips hungrily as she bent down to remove the last offending garment, leaving her standing completely naked before him.

She took a step towards him, and pressed herself against him, reaching up to kiss him passionately on the lips. He returned the kiss fervently, his good arm sliding up and down the skin on her back. At length, she drew back, and turned Erik's body around so that he stood directly beside the bed, with his back to it. She gently pushed him backwards towards it, and as his calves made contact with the metal frame, he was forced to sit down upon it. He gazed up at her, astounded by her beauty. She pushed his chest back, forcing him to lie down, with his legs still hanging over the side of the bed.

His breathing quickened as her fingers danced down his body, all the way from his chest and stopping just below his belly button. She released the clasp on the last remaining item separating them painfully slowly. She could see he was already straining against it, but still she teased. At last she slid the garment from his legs, and threw it aside.

She helped him shuffle fully onto the bed, before climbing above him and straddling him. She bent her head down and kissed him with tormenting passion, enticing him further under her glorious and tempting spell. The only sound to be heard was their heavy breathing and furious heartbeats.

**A/N: I'll let your imagination fill in from here xD**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: OK so another short one here.**

**I know some of you have been saying how evil Raoul has become, and you are right.**

**But even I think, as much as I hate him, that he isn't really so bad at heart.**

**So I have included a little insight into Raoul's mind in this chapter, to justify his actions up to a point, and explain why he has turned so heinous.**

**But don't worry if you like evil Raoul, because there's still plenty more to come!**

**So here is chapter 11 and we're back to Raoul and Gustave.**

**Enjoy and review :D**

Chapter Eleven: For Our Protection

Finally, Calais was in sight, and Gustave ran up to the deck to watch his home country come into view over the horizon. Up until this moment he hadn't missed it, but seeing it beckoning him in the distance brought a wave of nostalgia rushing through his veins. He was returning home.

Except what kind of a home would it be now? His mother had abandoned him, and now he knew that the man he had called father for ten whole years was not his father at all. But so much had happened. His previous life had all been a lie; his mother hadn't ever loved or wanted him at all, and had been waiting for Gustave's entire life for a chance to be rid of him. Well, fate had brought that chance and she had taken it. Perhaps it was meant to be this way. Perhaps this new life would be better than before. No more lies, Raoul had promised him. And it would be hard, of course. Gustave missed his mother already, but knowing that she was happy now that he was gone made him content enough; she might not love him but he still loved her, and if she was happy then that's all that mattered.

Gustave suddenly became aware of the presence of another beside him. He turned to see Raoul, looking out at the horizon. His face spoke of regret and sorrow. So many unsaid words, and unfulfilled dreams, and dashed hopes, all reflected in his eyes, and burning in his soul.

Raoul thought of everything he had done wrong. Of every promise he had made but didn't keep. He had brought this all on himself, of course, but it didn't soften the blow. He had left this place with a family, and returned with nothing. Except he hadn't returned with nothing; he had returned with a boy who wasn't now, and never had been, his son. But he had to take him. Otherwise he would have been left with literally nothing. It wasn't fair that the man who had once lived below the Paris Opera House, who had pretended he was some mysterious spectre, and had stolen Christine away with the intention of forcing marriage upon her, should end up with a wife and son. Why should he be happy when Raoul had had everything taken from him? All he had ever wanted was a wife who loved him as he loved her. He had loved Christine with every fibre of his being, but she had never been happy. She had always loved her angel of music. And because she had remained unhappy, Raoul had become unhappy. If only Christine had loved him back, everything would be different. Raoul would never had turned to drink, and they would have a son who was his as well as hers. But fate had been cruel, and left him with nothing.

Raoul looked down at the boy beside him: a boy who had lost so much. He suddenly felt sick with guilt, but he pushed it down within him and locked it away. What was done was done, and he couldn't go back now. And who's to say he had done the wrong thing? For all anyone knew, that monster could have been a terrible father. He was an evil, insane demon; he had murdered people for heaven's sake! He was doing the boy a favour. And Christine deserved this too; she had returned to that Phantom knowing the danger she had put her son in. She was not fit to be a mother. She deserved it. She deserved everything she got; she was just as evil as him.

"Are you happy to be home?" Raoul asked Gustave curiously.

"Now that I can see it, yes," he answered, as he gazed at the approaching landmass, "although I did enjoy Phantasma, until…" he trailed off, tears welling in his eyes.

"Gustave, my son, what happened there happened. We cannot change it, but we can move on. Together," Raoul comforted the boy, who nodded, still not looking at the man beside him.

As the ship docked, Raoul and Gustave began to head for the ramps that were now being attached between ship and pier. As they disembarked from the ramp and onto the dock, they were met by the furious flashing of press cameras. When the two stepped down without the presence of Christine, the questions began to flood forward. Where was the Vicomtess? Was she returning to France?

"I will issue a formal statement tomorrow. First, I must return to Paris and get in contact with the police immediately," Raoul told the crowds.

The questions continued as Raoul led Gustave down the docklands and into a waiting cab. Raoul directed the driver to take them to Paris. The driver pulled on the reigns, and the carriage was set into motion.

"OK, Gustave, I need to explain what happens from here," Raoul began, leaning forward to bring himself closer to the boy sat opposite him, "now, I'm going to be telling the police some things that aren't completely true, but it is for our protection."

"Like what?" Gustave asked suspiciously.

"Well, to start with, I'm going to tell them that you and your mother were kidnapped."

"But we weren't," Gustave began before he was interrupted.

"But you were, Gustave. You just did not realise it. That monster is clever, and he would have you believe that you were with him by your own admission and were free to go at any time. But the whole time he was holding you captive," Raoul told the boy.

"But I thought that mother planned it too? How can she have been kidnapped?"

"That is where I am bending the truth, son. You are right, your mother was in on his plans. But if the police find that out, they will think I knew about it. They would arrest me, Gustave, and you would be left completely alone," Raoul warned him, "Is that what you want, son?"

Gustave shook his head furiously, "No, Father, of course not."

"Then that is what the police must be told. So, you were both kidnapped, but I managed to rescue just you."

"But why must we tell the police at all, Father?" Gustave asked, once again confused.

"In case that madman comes looking for you."

"But they wanted rid of me? Why would they come back to find me?"

"He is insane, Gustave. It is more than likely that he will not settle for just your disappearance; he may want you dead," Raoul finished.

Gustave's eyes widened, and he looked as though he could cry. He was terrified.

"See, son. Now do you understand why all of this is necessary?" Raoul looked at the boy expectantly.

"Yes, Father, of course I do. I don't want him to kill me!" Gustave cried.

"And that is why you must memorise everything I have just told you, so that you can tell the police tomorrow."

"OK, Father, I know what I must say," Gustave nodded, still looking frightened.

"Well done, Gustave," Raoul smiled gently, "Don't worry, I will protect you from him. The police are just an extra precaution."

Gustave nodded again, his eyes shifting nervously, rubbing his fingers together in his lap. Raoul grinned as he watched the boy. Everything was going to plan.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

The carriage stopped briefly in Beauvais while the driver fed and rested the horses, and Raoul and Gustave ate dinner at a small inn. They then set off again for the last leg of the journey. Having set off from Calais early in the morning, the pair arrived in Paris just before dawn the following day. They were dropped off by the driver at the police station, where he was told to wait whilst they spoke to the police. Raoul entered the police station, which luckily was open all night, and demanded to talk to the captain.

The police first took Raoul into a room for questioning, leaving Gustave alone in the waiting room. He sat nervously, every now and then glancing at the door, half expecting his real father to burst in wielding a knife. Several minutes later, Raoul returned to the waiting room, and Gustave was called to the other room for questioning. Raoul gave him an encouraging wink as they passed one another. Gustave gave him a half-hearted smile, before turning and following the policeman into the room.

The police officer gestured to a chair that stood behind a small table. Gustave nervously shuffled over to it, and sat down slowly. The policeman sat down in another chair across the table from the boy.

"So, Gustave is it?" he asked the boy kindly.

"Yes, Monsieur," Gustave replied quietly.

"Don't worry, boy, you've done nothing wrong," he chuckled, "I'd just like you to tell me what happened while you were in America."

Gustave told the policeman everything his father had told him to, answering questions when they were asked of him. He felt bad for lying, but he knew that his father had been right. It was for their protection. And if it kept that monster away from him, then Gustave was more than happy to tell a few bent truths.

He emerged from the questioning room, to find Raoul waiting for him and smiling as he entered.

"Well, Monsieur de Chagny, it seems that you are at a great risk from this man," The policeman began, "and it is, of course, our duty to protect you. I shall have a troop of twenty police guards sent to your estate, five of whom will accompany you immediately. The rest will join you later this morning."

"Merci, Monsieur, you have been most helpful," Raoul bowed slightly to the policeman, who returned the bow and offered Raoul his hand.

The two men shook hands, before the police chief summoned five guards from a room out the back. They were briefed, and sent along with Raoul and Gustave to return to the estate. The pair got back into their carriage, and headed back to their home, followed by their five-man guard.

Later that morning, the remaining fifteen guards arrived at the mansion. They were placed at every possibly entrance. The entire estate was covered. There was no way anyone could possibly get in, Raoul thought. He smiled. At last, he had his son and nothing could take him away now. And when that demon came to rescue the boy, which he inevitably would, he would be arrested and locked up for life. Everything had at last fallen into place.


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: I'm afraid that there is unlikely to be any more updates until mid next week. I'm busy watching the football (as in soccer), tomorrow for England Vs Algeria! Hopefully we will do better than we did against the USA last week.**

**And then I'm off to West End Live on Saturday and Sunday, which will be brilliant. And then watching the X-Factor auditions in London on Monday, so I have a very busy weekend ahead.**

**But anyways, back to Erik and Christine now, and it's the morning after the night before :P**

**Enjoy and review! =D**

Chapter Twelve: I'm not that Person

Erik woke slowly to find a gloriously naked Christine snuggled into his side, her arm draped over his chest and her face buried into his neck. He shifted his head back, and looked down at the sleeping woman in his arms. In that moment, she looked so beautiful. Her long, wild curls splayed out down her back and across his shoulder. She looked so peaceful when she slept. The constant worry of losing her son had plagued her features over the last couple of weeks; her eyes always showing her disquiet, and the subtle anxious frown that curved across her brow displaying the relentless stress she continuously felt. It relaxed Erik to at last see her back to her usual, carefree self for a while, even if it was only while she dreamt.

He remained in his watchful reverie until Christine began to stir, before waking fully. Erik's heart fell as immediately, all the signs of stress returned to her features, though they were muted slightly by the warm smile she gave him as she realised where she was. She gazed at him, reaching up to place her hand against his deformed cheek. As she stroked the skin gently, Erik was surprised to find that the urge to cover his face did not strike him, and he felt completely comfortable under her gaze. It was a feeling he had never experienced before, and he shook his head in disbelief.

"What's wrong?" Christine asked.

"Nothing's wrong, nothing at all," Erik told her, a contented smile spreading over his slightly misshapen lips, "quite the opposite in fact," he paused, and she gave him a look as if urging him to explain, "for once in my life, I feel…normal. I feel human."

Christine gave him an affectionate smile, a hint of pity behind her eyes.

"But you are normal and you are human. I've always seen it," she told him sincerely, "the monster was always in your head, not in your heart and not on your face."

He smiled at her, but looked sad at the same time.

"Christine, I never apologised," Erik began, breaking eye contact and looking down, "for behaving how I did, all those years ago. I don't know what happened to me. I just need you to know that I'm not that person anymore. I wasn't that person before I met you either. Something just went wrong. I still don't know what it was, but I need you to know that I'd never hurt you."

"Erik, there is no need to apologise. Love does strange things to a person, even more so when that person does not see that it is love that is changing him. I always understood that Erik, even if you did not. You are not a different man now than you were then, you just understand yourself now, as I always have. And I know you would never hurt me. I trust you with my life and love you with my soul."

A blissful smile made its way onto Erik's lips at her words. He pulled her into his arms, planting tender kisses into her hair. He pulled back and once again looked into her eyes.

"Christine, may I ask you something?" he asked.

"Anything."

"If you knew then that you loved me, why did you leave with the Vicomte? All those years ago," he asked, his voice breaking slightly on the word 'leave'.

"Erik, like I said before, love does strange things to people. I saw what your love for me was doing to you, and I knew I couldn't stay. Plus," she began, falling slightly quiet on the final word, "I came and found you when I realised I couldn't live without you. It was you who left me in the end," she told him, in sadness more than anger.

"Christine, you know I never wanted to leave you. But you were always better off with that boy. He had money and nobility. He could protect you, and I thought you loved him," Erik explained, "At least that's what I thought; he fooled the lot of us."

"Erik, if I could go back and change what happened, I would never have left you alone in those cellars," Christine assured him, "I only wish we could have seen this coming. We could have spent our lives together."

"But we can still have that Christine. You, me and Gustave, together as a family. And you as my…wife," he swallowed nervously.

"Your wife," Christine repeated, looking slightly taken aback.

"My wife," he confirmed, "Marry me, Christine."

"But Erik, I am already married. I would love nothing more than to be your wife, but what can we do about Raoul?" she asked, confused.

"We'll work something out. Once we have found Gustave, we can find a way around it. Please just say yes, Christine," he asked, his eyes wide and anxious, fearing her refusal.

"Yes, OK then, yes," she replied, smiling at him.

He grinned at her, before reaching up and capturing her lips. At length, he broke the kiss, and looked down at his hand. He slid the gold ring with the green stone that he always wore from his little finger, and placed it gently on Christine's ring finger. She beamed at him, before leaning forward and kissing him lightly on the lips again. He grinned back before practically leaping from the bed.

"Come on, we have a son to find," he smiled confidently at her, and she smiled back, albeit with that underlying sorrow that appeared every time he mentioned her son.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

When Madame Giry entered the aerie later that morning, Christine and Erik were already bustling around, packing their clothes and other necessary possessions. They did not appear to have seen her come in, and even when she announced herself, they hardly seemed to register her presence. She saw that Erik was packing the majority of his belongings, many of which were too insignificant to take for a short trip. He was also wearing a new mask and wig. She had known he kept spares, but she was still surprised to see him wearing them, since he had not worn either since the fire.

"Erik, you are taking everything with you?" She asked him curiously.

He threw her a look that spoke so much. She understood.

"You do not mean to return," she stated.

"There's nothing left for me here; Phantasma is burned to the ground. What reason have I to return? Once we find my son, I will have everything I have ever wanted. This life, here in America, was only a substitute for the life I always wanted but believed I could never have. Now I have a shot at that life, and I no longer need this place," he spoke nostalgically, glancing around at his aerie.

"Promise me you will write," Madame Giry requested quietly, the stern edge to her voice almost disappearing completely.

"Of course," he replied, throwing her a regretful smile.

"You can always come and visit us in France," Christine added, "you and Meg."

"Thank you, Christine. Perhaps we will. Once Meg has recovered."

"How is she now, Madame?" Christine asked worriedly.

"Much better. At first she was distraught; she couldn't believe what she had almost done. This life has damaged her, I fear irrevocably. But on the positive side, she has been offered a job in New York," Madame Giry smiled, "she will be lead dancer in the New York ballet."

"That's fantastic!" Christine declared happily, "Is she happy?"

"At first she was reluctant, but eventually she saw that it was a fantastic opportunity. Now she is very excited. Plus, it means we haven't got to move far from here. She starts at the end of the month."

"Do congratulate her from me, Madame," Erik stated, a slightly bitter edge to his tone. Christine knew he was thinking of her actions at the pier. He would not forgive her lightly, Christine suspected. But at least he was behaving graciously.

"I will, Erik. So, when does your ship leave for France?" she asked, changing the subject, sensing Erik's feelings on the matter of her daughter.

"Two o'clock this afternoon. Then in little under a week's time we will be in Calais. I will be careful in entering Paris. No doubt that slimy toad has alerted the gendarmes as to my inevitable arrival," Erik explained bitterly, "we must be careful upon leaving so as not to be seen. We cannot afford word of our departure to reach France. They must not be expecting us."

"Very well. May I at least accompany you to the docks to see you off?"

"Of course, Madame. We would like that very much," Christine smiled kindly.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

Christine hugged her adopted mother tightly. She was dressed in cheap, plain clothes; Erik had thought that as long as she dressed like the lower classes she would not be recognised. Erik was dressed in a dark brown suit, with a hat that shadowed his face. It was not at all like his usual style of dress, which mainly consisted of white shirts and black everything else.

"I shall miss you," Christine told Madame Giry, as she pulled away from the embrace.

"No you won't, my dear. You have a son to find, you'll be too busy to miss me. And when you have your boy back, and have enough time to start missing me, it will have been long enough that I will already be on my way to visit," she reassured the girl.

Christine smiled, tears welling slightly in her eyes. She stepped back to allow her companions to say goodbye to one another.

At first Erik and Madame Giry just looked at each other, neither quite sure of how to say what they felt. At length, it was Erik who stepped forward and pulled the older woman into his arms. He winced slightly as he lifted his left arm around her, but held it wrapped around her anyway. They embraced silently for a long time while Christine looked on, still not fully understanding their relationship. At last they broke apart, tears in both of their eyes, as the last passengers were called to board for immediate departure.

"Thank you," Erik spoke quietly, "for everything."

She nodded, smiling gently at him.

"Goodbye, Erik," she whispered, "Look after her," she smiled, gesturing to Christine who smiled back fondly.

"I will," Erik nodded, "Goodbye," he said regretfully.

Reluctantly he turned towards the enormous ship, picking up his and Christine's bags and walking over to hand them to a bellboy. He then walked back to Christine, taking her hand in his. He smiled at Madame Giry again, who looked as if she were about to cry. He then turned and began to lead Christine towards the ramp up to the deck. Once they had boarded, Christine ran to the side railings that faced the docks, and waved down at Madame Giry. Erik sidled up beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist, and gazing down at his dear old friend, tears welling in his eyes. As the ship's horn sounded and the steam began to pour from the twin funnels, the ship began to move away from the docks.

Christine continued to wave as the ship got further and further from land. Madame Giry gave a weak, half-hearted wave. Erik lifted his hand to the level of his eye, and held it there completely still as a gesture of goodbye. Christine looked at him, seeing the sorrow and regret shining in his eyes. She reached up, nudging his chin gently with her finger. He turned to look down at her and she reached up and kissed him on his exposed cheek, before wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him close to her. He buried his face into her hair as she planted a kiss on the side of his neck.

Suddenly all of his sadness disappeared. Of course he was saddened by having to leave his friend behind. She was the person who had stood by him, helped him and supported him for the last twenty years of his life, even back at the opera. She had helped him sneak out of France after the…incident…ten years ago. The truth was, she had always been there for him, and he owed her more than he could ever hope to be able to repay. Perhaps she had become greedy. Perhaps she had forgotten herself for a while, and almost played a part in the potential death of the only woman he had ever truly loved. But she had paid her dues, as had her daughter, and Erik could not bring himself to hold it against her. He would forget the past few weeks, and harbour only fond memories of her as he started his new life in France. And the thought of this new life brought him happiness beyond measure; happiness that he had never dreamed he could feel. Nothing could stop him from finding his son, and when he did, life would undoubtedly become more perfect than he could imagine. This was his future. Happiness, with a wife and son.

As the docks faded into the distance, Christine and Erik broke apart, Erik smiling in his reverie.

"Shall we go and see what our room is like?" she asked him, excited at the thought of returning to Paris and finding her son. She had missed Gustave so very much, but she had not let Erik know how much; she did not want him to worry and rush himself before he was fully recovered.

"If you would like to," Erik smiled, chuckling softly at her eagerness.

She grinned before taking hold of his hand and pulling him towards the cabins. In trying to convince fellow passengers of their lower class statuses, they had booked a thoroughly standard room on the ship. This did not bother Christine, however. She told Erik how she liked to live on the slightly rougher side of things; it reminded her of her travelling days with her father, back when she was a child.

Their cabin was three floors down and relatively small. There was a small double bed against one wall, with a little a table against the other and a basin in the corner. Erik groaned as he saw the size of their room. He wanted so much for Christine to have the biggest, best facilities available, but for protection's sake they were stuck in here. Christine, however, did not share his disappointment. The thought of spending a week in such close proximity to Erik was in itself exciting. Who needed big rooms when she could have him? To her, everything about this arrangement was perfect, except for one thing: Gustave was still lost.


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Right so I know I said I wasn't gonna update until next week, but I didn't end up going to day 2 of west end live, so I had some free time today.**

**Day one of west end live was brilliant, in case anyone is interested. Sierra Boggess (Christine in Love Never Dies) performed the title song, and Ramin Karimloo and Harry Child (Phantom and Gustave) performed Beauty Underneath. There's vids on youtube if you haven't already seen them so definitely check them out! Also, if anyone was there later on Saturday and saw the orange Avenue Q puppet in the audience, I was one of the people controlling him xD**

**Anyways here is chapter 3, and we are back to Raoul and Gustave for a very short chapter. But it's still a very important chapter.**

**Please review and let me know what you think.**

Chapter Thirteen: Do You Understand?

It had been a week since Gustave and Raoul had returned to France, and life had been very different from how it had been before they had left for America. Gustave had hoped that knowing his mother was now happy would be enough, but he found himself missing her more and more everyday. Yet he knew that he could never have her back; her love for her son had always been an illusion. He had to accept that Raoul was all he had now. He was the only person in the world who loved him, so who cared if he wasn't Gustave's true father? The truth was, his real father most likely wanted him dead, but he was safe with Raoul. The monster would never get past all the police around the estate, and even if he did, his father's henchmen would protect Gustave.

Raoul's henchmen were really just a pair of burly brutes, who liked to call themselves the De Chagny personal guard. In reality, their role was to carry out Raoul's bidding, which perhaps went against French law. But their biggest role so far had been to protect Raoul and his family from those to whom money was owed. Money that Raoul had used to bet with, but had never had in the first place, because the truth was, Raoul had no money left. He had gambled away all that he had and more, and had unforeseeably gambled away his family along with it.

He knew it was because of his gambling that everything had gone wrong. It had started with a friendly bet among some associates and acquaintances, but had grown to so much more. Once all of his money had gone he turned to drink. Nothing had gone right since his marriage to Christine. It was bad enough that he knew she didn't love him, but now he had lost everything. He had been sure that Christine would leave him, but she had stayed; for better or for worse.

Who was to know what was waiting for them in America. He hadn't wanted to go in the first place, he suspected something was not right, but he could never have imagined who was waiting for them there. If he had known he would certainly have forbade it, but Christine was desperate to go. Perhaps she knew all along. She must have known he was there, waiting for her. Why else would she have been so forceful about going. 'We need the money' was what she had said, but perhaps she knew this was her escape route. Or her way of punishing Raoul for the debts, by leaving him alone without the son he had always believed to be his; leaving him with absolutely nothing.

Perhaps she hadn't known, but that was irrelevant. Once she had found out she had been all too keen to get rid of Raoul. It seemed that her marriage meant nothing now that she had found her lover again. How easy it had been for her to throw away the last ten years. And for a man whose obsession for her drove him to madness. Surely she had been better off with Raoul all along; he hadn't forced her into marriage, nor kept her hidden away underground. He had given her wealth and privilege, and unrequited love. But she had chosen against him anyway.

Raoul sat in the study of the De Chagny mansion, looking out of the window onto the grounds, where several police guards stood. He was brought back to reality from his musings by a knock at the study door. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it, before getting up from his chair and walking to the door. He opened it, and found a very bored looking Gustave looking up at him.

"Gustave, you know you aren't supposed to leave your room!" Raoul growled at the boy. Gustave flinched and shrank back from the door.

"I'm sorry, Father. I just came to ask you something, but never mind, I'll just go back upstairs," Gustave swallowed nervously before turning away from the door.

"Wait, Gustave. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to shout at you," Raoul apologised, reaching up and rubbing his face, "it's just safer for you up there."

"I know, father. But, it has been a whole week and I have nothing to do. And I haven't seen any of my friends in nearly a month. Perhaps I could go out and play with them, just for a little while?" he asked uncertainly.

"Definitely not. It isn't safe," Raoul answered sternly.

"But, Father…" Gustave began, but was interrupted by an angry Raoul.

"But nothing, Gustave," he barked, "You are to stay in your room. Now don't come down here again without my permission. Do you understand?"

Gustave said nothing, and stood still, staring up at Raoul looking close to tears.

"I said, do you understand?" Raoul shouted, anger blazing in his eyes.

"Yes, Father," Gustave whispered, before turning and running down the hall and up the stairs. He ran straight to his bedroom, past Raoul's guards, one shouting something about how he shouldn't be out of his room. He ignored them, slamming his bedroom door behind him, before leaping onto his bed and burying his head in his pillow.

He began to cry angrily, twisting the fabric within his fists. He kicked his legs and shouted into his pillow. It wasn't fair; he wasn't allowed to do anything. Just stay in this room day after day. Who knew when it would be safe for him to come out? It could be years for all anybody knew. If it was this bad after just a week, how would he cope for months, never mind years? But the strange thing was, he wasn't even angry with Raoul; after all, he was just trying to protect him. No, he was angry with that monster! His so-called father. And his mother, too. It was because of them that Gustave was stuck here.

His mother had abandoned him in favour of the man who now wanted his own son dead; the man who Gustave feared more than anyone else in the world. He was clever, and he had almost convinced Gustave that he would be a better father than Raoul. But that had all been part of his game, to trick Gustave into believing that he was safe, and loved. And that's when he would strike. And before anyone could blink, his son would have been out of the way, and he could have sailed off into the sunset with the woman loved; a woman, who Gustave had now learned to hate as much as he hated his father. She had known of his plan to kill her son, and she had been all too keen for it to happen; she was as dangerous as him. Only she lacked the nerve to kill him herself.

At the thought of his real parents, Gustave sat up from his bed and wiped away his tears, although his anger stayed firmly in place. He then vowed out loud to his room, that if he ever saw his father again, he would kill him before he had the chance to be killed himself.

Raoul stood outside the bedroom door, listening to Gustave's angry proclamation. He smiled to himself triumphantly. He had well and truly brainwashed the boy, and it had been all too easy. He had never believed that his son would be so easily convinced, but apparently he had been. He laughed quietly to himself, before turning and walking back down the stairs with a spring in his step and a contented smile on his face.


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Wow 99 reviews! Thank you so much to every single person who has reviewed, and especially the ones who review every chapter. It really makes me enjoy the writing more knowing I have your support.**

**But anyway, back to the story. We are once again with Erik and Christine for this chapter, and we'll be with them for the next few probably. I've even thrown in some seasickness for Eriksangelofmusic4ever, seeing as she clearly likes to torture poor Erik in every way possible xD**

**So please enjoy and review**

**Much love! =)**

Chapter Fourteen: The Only Way

As the week on the ship went by, Erik and Christine found themselves becoming closer and closer to one another. After the initial bouts of seasickness experienced by a very embarrassed Erik, who had spent much of the first day heaving over the railings of the ship with Christine rubbing his back sympathetically, they had been constantly on the go. They explored new parts of the enormous ship each day, and then sat together on deck to watch the sunset every evening, before spending each night in one another's arms. They were always in each other's presence, and neither could imagine a life without the other now that they were together. All the awkwardness between them had gone, and even Erik felt completely comfortable in her constant company.

It would have been the happiest days of Christine's life, had it not been for the gaping hole that filled her chest; a hole that epitomized the absence of her son. In fact, the only thing that allowed her to smile at all was the thought that they would soon find him. And then at last, they could be a real family. She could see her feelings reflected in Erik's eyes, and she could only imagine how much a life like that could mean to him. He had always been alone, ever since childhood Christine presumed. How incredible it was that soon he would have the life he would never have dared to dream of.

As they sat together on deck, hand in hand, at dusk on the day before they would arrive in Calais, they gazed into one another's eyes. Erik, as always, was astounded by Christine's beauty. In the twilight, she glowed like the angel Erik knew she was, and not for the first time he wondered if he was in a dream. Just months ago, the idea that he could be where he was now would have been unfathomable. It seemed that at last, cruel fate had decided to reward poor Erik; it was at last his chance to be happy. But it still was not complete; he still had a son to find. This was his task. To win happiness, he had to find his child. But if he failed, the consequences were so very dire; Christine would never again be happy, and Erik would never have had a true chance to be the father he hoped he could be. He made a silent promise that if he succeeded in finding Gustave, he would try so very hard to be the best father imaginable. He had a lifetime's worth of love inside him to give to the boy, and all he wanted was the chance to give it.

As he thought of his son, he considered how Christine must be feeling. As strongly as he felt about his son, it was nothing compared to the tie Christine had to the boy. She had raised him from birth. She knew every detail of the boy's existence; everything he liked, everything he hated, all the things he was good at. In hindsight, Erik knew very little of his son compared to the boy's mother. He realised that however hard the loss had hit Erik, it must have hit Christine a million times harder. But as she gazed back at him, he saw all the trust she had in him, and all the confidence she had that their boy would be found. Erik's heart broke as he realised how sure she must be that they would find Gustave; Erik knew all too well that fate was rarely that kind. It was all too possible that Gustave would not be retrieved, but there was no doubt in her eyes. But Erik could not tell her any of this; what would it do to her if she lost hope? No, he would let her believe they would find him. Let her hold on to her faith, and just pray that her belief was enough.

Christine smiled affectionately at Erik, before breaking eye contact and looking up to watch the sun disappear over the horizon. 'Tomorrow', she thought. She smiled contentedly at the sunset, while Erik watched her, trying desperately to read her thoughts.

At length, Christine stood, hand still within Erik's grasp. She pulled him up with her, before turning and heading for their cabin. If this was to be their last night of calm before the impending storm, then she planned to make the most of every single second, starting from this moment.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

Erik woke early the next morning, anxious about the day ahead. He had several last minute plans to make. He looked down at Christine's sleeping form in his arms, and smiled contentedly at her. Each day that he woke up in her presence brought the same feelings of disbelief and overwhelming happiness rushing over him. But as always, they were quickly inundated by worry and sorrow as he remembered the absence of the one thing that bound them inexorably.

He revelled in the feel of her skin against his for a moment longer, before gently unwinding her arms from his chest, and sliding out of the bed. He watched as she blindly reached out for the source of the warmth that had been so abruptly removed, before she relaxed back into her undisturbed sleep. Erik smiled down at her, wishing he could have stayed within her embrace forever. But he had work to do, and plans to make. He pulled on his clothes, which had been draped over a chair, before sitting at the desk to begin making his plans.

A few hours later, Christine began to stir, before waking fully to find Erik hunched over the desk, writing. He did not turn to look as she slid out of the bed, and walked up behind him. She leaned her head over his shoulder, sliding her arms over his shoulders and down his chest underneath his shirt, before wrapping them around his torso. She turned her face towards his, and kissed him softly on the cheek. He stopped writing and smiled warmly.

"Good morning," he said in mild amusement.

"Good morning," she replied, now covering his cheek in light kisses. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, relaxing under her touch, "How long have you been awake?"

"A few hours," he replied, his eyes still closed.

"What have you been doing?" she asked curiously, pulling away from his cheek to look down at what he had been writing. She saw he had drawn a map of the docklands in Calais, beside which was a map of the ship with all entrances and exits labelled.

"Preparing for when we reach Calais," he answered, turning his head to look at her, "The Vicomte will no doubt have the police on full alert as to our likely arrival. We cannot afford to be seen, so we must be incredibly careful. We have to look for ways to get off the ship where we will not be seen."

He had turned his head back down to the plans laid out across the desk, and his eyes were scanning them.

"So, have you found a way?" she asked curiously.

"Well, I had hoped to find an alternative exit from the ship, but all other exits lead out into the water. It seems that out of the main doors is the only way," he explained.

"But surely they will see us," Christine reasoned in confusion.

"Not necessarily. They will only see what they are looking for, so as long as we are not what they are looking for, we will be invisible," Erik riddled.

"I don't understand," she told him, leaning back to look at his face again.

He looked over his shoulder at her confused expression before explaining his plan fully. When he had finished, Christine nodded and smiled.

"I hope this works," she told him.

"So do I," he replied, his face giving away his anxiety.

He stood from the chair, and walked around it towards Christine. He reached out and embraced her, holding her tightly to him. He would never tell her just how scared he was; so much could go wrong from here onwards, and all of his dreams could shatter at any moment. He held her to him as if this could be the last time he would hold her; he didn't dare to think that this could be true.

Their hug was interrupted by a knock on the door. Erik pulled back from Christine, kissing her lightly on the nose.

"I'm busy. Who's there?" he shouted towards the door.

"Bellboy, sir," a young boy's voice replied.

"What do you want?" Erik asked, irritated.

"Sorry, Sir. Just to tell you that we are docking in about half an hour. I've come to collect your luggage," the boy replied nervously.

"Very well, boy. Return in five minutes and our bags will be waiting for you," Erik told the bellboy.

He heard the sound of quickly retreating feet on the other side of the door. He turned back to Christine.

"Come, you must get dressed," he told her.

She smiled and nodded at him, before leaning in to kiss him.

"I love you," she whispered into his lips.

"I love you," he whispered back, before pulling away and fetching some items of clothing from his suitcase.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

Half an hour later, Erik and Christine stood in the line of passengers waiting to get off the ship. Erik was dressed in a faded grey suit, with a wide-rimmed hat. He had donned a mask which Christine had never seen before. It was skin-coloured, and Christine saw that it was much less noticeable than his usual white one. In fact, from a distance, Christine guessed that one might not notice it at all. He was bent forward, one hand resting on an old walking cane, that Erik had found in a lost property cupboard in one of the ship's storerooms.

Beside him stood Christine, but a version of Christine that nobody would ever recognise as the Vicomtess. At least, that's what Erik hoped. Her hair was tied up and concealed under a hat, so that it appeared to have been cut very short. She wore a loose-fitting brown suit, with a shirt and tie underneath, and shiny black shoes. Her outfit, coupled with her height and feminine features, gave Christine the appearance of a young man, perhaps aged around sixteen. To anyone looking upon them from the outside, all they would see would be an older man with a boy, perhaps his son. If anyone would notice the mask, Christine would simply explain how her father had been disfigured in the war.

Erik threw a sideways glance at Christine. He saw that she was nervous, so he gently reached out to squeeze her hand. She turned to look at him, and smiled as she saw the encouragement in his eyes.

Suddenly, the main doors were opened, and people began to shuffle out and down the ramp onto the docks. Christine took a deep breath, before dropping Erik's hand and standing up straight. They began to walk forward, Christine doing her best to pull off a boyish walk, while Erik shuffled forward, leaning heavily on his walking stick. As they walked down the steep ramp, Christine pretended to help Erik walk down the slope. They played their parts well, and they reached the bottom of the ramp without any incidents. Erik looked up and scanned the docklands. He had been right, police were scattered everywhere, watching the passengers leaving the ship intently. However, none of them seemed to be paying the pair any attention whatsoever.

They continued forwards towards the luggage collection. Christine tried to lift both of their suitcases, but found they were far too heavy. Erik stiffened as he saw a policeman approaching, looking slightly curious. Had they been rumbled? If they had, surely the policeman would have sounded the alarm already. Unless he was coming over to make sure his suspicions were correct.

However, Erik relaxed as the officer just asked if he could help Christine with the bags. She nodded and thanked him. He picked up both bags with little effort, and escorted Erik and Christine to a waiting hansom. He lifted their suitcases onto the luggage rack on the back of the carriage, before holding the door open to Erik. Erik thanked the policeman, keeping his hat low over his face, and climbed slowly into the carriage, aided by Christine, who leapt in beside him. She thanked him, before pulling the door closed.

Erik relaxed as the policeman smiled and retreated back towards the ship. He then told the driver to take them to Paris as quick as possible, and promised a large payout if he was fast. Immediately, the carriage kicked into motion, and pulled away from the docklands.


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: As I've said before, thank you soooo much for the reviews. I can't believe I have over a hundred! It makes me really happy to know that this has been so well received, especially since this is the first time I've written anything fictional since I was about eleven. I've officially been bitten by the writing bug.**

**Anyway like I promised, we are still with Christine and Erik. I'm not too sure about this chapter…I'm not completely happy with it but it's the best I can do with how busy I am at the moment.**

**Oh and one more thing…there are lots of references to Susan Kay's 'Phantom' in this, since I wanted to involve some of Erik's past and Kay's book is just so well written and has a brilliant story (if you haven't read it I definitely recommend it!)**

**So enjoy and review =)**

Chapter Fifteen: Haven't Been Expecting You

Erik and Christine reached the borders of Paris at midnight, when the driver stopped briefly to rest the horses, while the pair stayed within the carriage to avoid being seen. Just before setting off again, the driver poked his head through the window and asked whether they had any particular destination within Paris in mind. Erik told him the name of an inn on a street which Christine recognised to be fairly close to the Opera House. She wondered if perhaps that this was where he intended to stay, but she would not ask here. If that was his intention, then the fact that he did not give the opera house as the place to be taken was enough to tell Christine to keep quiet.

They set off again, reaching their destination little under an hour later. As the hansom slowed to a stop on a quiet Parisian street, Christine opened the door and climbed out, before pretending to help Erik. The driver hopped down from his perch and lifted their luggage from the rack, placing it by the side of the road. Erik reached into his coat and pulled out a black purse. He handed the driver a tidy sum, and thanked him. He then gestured for Christine to stand to the side, and they watched as the carriage pulled away and disappeared down the street.

Erik quickly looked about himself, checking for any signs of prying eyes. When he had deemed it safe, he handed the walking stick to Christine, before bending over and throwing their bags over his shoulder with ease. Silently, he began to walk over to the front of the inn. Christine made to reach out and open the door, but Erik whispered her name to stop her. He gestured with his head to a door just further down the row of buildings. They walked the few paces down the street to reach it, before Christine lifted her hand and knocked.

At first they heard no noise, but soon enough, Christine heard grumbling and approaching footsteps on the other side of the door. She then heard someone fiddling with the locks and mumbling about the late hour. Slowly, the door opened to reveal a very tired looking man standing before them. He had ebony skin, jade eyes and jet black hair, except for the dustings of grey that showed his age. He had a short, black beard that was shaped in a line around his jaw and up to his bottom lip. His eyes were dark and irritated, but shone with a tired kindness.

He was about to open his mouth to shout at Christine, when he set his glance upon the old gentleman that the 'young man' was standing beside. Erik looked up and smiled at the man.

"Hello, Daroga," he said quietly, a gleam of humour in his eyes.

"I think you'd better come in," the man replied, looking slightly bemused.

"Thank you," Erik grinned, gesturing for Christine to enter before him. She gave him a questioning look, but continued forward into the building.

The man led them down a dark hallway, and into a small room where there was a small couch and two armchairs. He stood just inside the doorway, and gestured for Christine to sit down. She smiled warily at him, but continued into the room, setting herself down on the couch. Erik followed her, dropping the bags casually to the floor, before flopping down beside Christine, reclining and resting his feet upon the small coffee table in the centre of the room. Erik's casual demeanour dumbfounded Christine; she had never seen him act so aloof in anyone's company but her own. It only increased her curiosity as to who this man was.

The man whom Erik had called Daroga approached the armchair sat diagonally opposite the sofa, before tiredly lowering himself into it. He then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs and his chin upon his clasped together hands. He looked expectantly at Erik, who just grinned back with an air of mischief.

At length, when Erik continued to say nothing, the man dropped his hands from his chin and leaned back in the chair.

"Well, Erik, I can't say I haven't been expecting you to show up," he spoke tiredly, "although I didn't expect it to be so soon."

Erik's smile widened, but he remained silent. The man's gaze shifted to Christine.

"And you must be mademoiselle Daae," he smiled warmly, "or perhaps I should call you monsieur, judging by your attire."

Christine self-consciously looked down at her clothes, before reaching up and pulling off the hat that hid her long waves of hair. A few of her brown locks fell out of the hat and tumbled around her ears, while most of them stayed firmly in the bun she had tied on top of her head. The man smiled kindly at her.

"Yes, monsieur," she confirmed.

"It is an honour, Madame. My name is Nadir Khan," he informed her.

Christine nodded nervously, "It is lovely to meet you, monsieur."

Erik remained silent, watching in amusement before Nadir threw him a pointed look. Erik rolled his eyes, before removing his feet from the table and sitting up straight.

"Christine, Nadir is an old friend of mine," Erik explained briefly, "However, Daroga, I would like to know what exactly you meant about how you have been expecting me?"

"Erik, you are all over the papers!" Nadir exclaimed, "The gendarmes are on full alert for your arrival. It amazes me that you even made it here! The story of how you tried to kill the Vicomte's son and how you stole his wife in America is everywhere!"

"Just as I expected," Erik spoke thoughtfully, "but you must know, dear friend, that these stories are far from true."

"Last time I saw you, you were fleeing France after very nearly murdering the Vicomte. For all I know, Erik, all these stories are true. Of course I never believed you would try to kill a child, even one that belonged to the Vicomte," Nadir answered.

"He is my son, Nadir," Erik said quietly, "and I could never hurt him. When the Vicomte found out that he was not the boy's father, he could not accept it. He kidnapped the boy and ran back to France like a coward," he said bitterly.

"The boy is your son?" Nadir gasped, "How can this be?"

"Would you like the details, Daroga?" Erik asked sardonically.

"No, no thank you, Erik. That won't be necessary," he replied, a hint of humour in his eyes, "So I suppose you have returned to Paris to reclaim the boy."

"Indeed. I fear that the Vicomte has become unstable. Who knows what kind of danger the boy is in whilst in his care?" Erik said darkly.

"And I suppose you require my help?" Nadir enquired.

"Only if you wish to give it, my friend," Erik grinned, already knowing the answer.

"You know that I am in your debt, Erik. You once helped my son, now I will help yours," Nadir answered, his eyes glistening with some repressed emotion.

Erik nodded in understanding, before standing and offering Christine his hand. She took it and rose up beside him.

"If you don't mind, Daroga, Christine and I would like to retire for the night. It has been a long journey, you understand," Erik stated rather than asked.

"Of course, my friend. Tomorrow we can begin making plans, but for now, a good night's sleep is most certainly in order," Nadir replied, getting to his feet and yawning.

"Goodnight," Erik smiled, before bowing politely at his friend.

"Goodnight, Erik, Christine," Nadir replied, returning the gesture.

"Goodnight, Monsieur Khan," Christine smiled, also bowing slightly.

Erik picked up their suitcases, and led them down the hallway. Christine suspected that Erik had spent many a night here, as he seemed to know exactly where he was heading. He opened the door of a room, and allowed Christine to enter before him. There was a small double bed against one wall, with a crimson chez lounge at its foot. There were two sizable wardrobes, and a small writing desk. Erik dropped their bags down at the foot of the bed beside the chez lounge, and began to remove the layers of unfamiliar clothing. Christine mimicked his actions, removing the suit and shirt she had been forced to wear. She pulled out a nightdress from her suitcase and donned the item quickly, revelling in the feel of familiar attire. As intriguing as she had found it to dress as a boy, it was not an experience she had particularly enjoyed.

Erik had already removed his mask and wig, and was settling down into the bed. He pulled the covers open beside him and held his arms out to Christine. She smiled affectionately, before acquiescing. She nestled into his side, draping an arm over his bare chest and nuzzling his shoulder lovingly.

Christine's head was filled with questions as they snuggled down into their warm embrace. She thought about leaving the questions until the morning, but her curiosity got the better of her.

"Erik, how do you know Monsieur Khan?" she asked quietly. He was slightly taken aback by the question.

"I told you, he's an old friend," he answered, evading the question.

"But how did you meet him?" she asked, refusing to let him fob her off this time. She felt it was time he told her about himself, and she would not let him escape it anymore.

"Why do you want to know?" Erik asked suspiciously.

Christine sat up and looked down at him with a frown.

"Erik, I know nothing about you. You've never told me a single thing about your life," she told him, slightly irritated.

"Christine, you don't want to know anything about my life, trust me," he rolled his eyes.

"Don't tell me what I don't want. This has gone on too long. I need to know you, Erik. Why won't you just tell me your past? You don't tell me anything, and it feels as though you don't trust me," she told him, disheartened.

"Christine, you know I trust you. But my life before I met you was a mess. And if I tell you about it…" he trailed off.

"What?" she urged expectantly when he didn't continue.

"You won't want to be with me anymore. You'll hate me," he stated, breaking eye contact and looking down.

"Erik," Christine began, placing a finger under his chin to lift his gaze back up to her. She noticed that he had tears welling in his eyes, "Erik, I could never hate you. But I want to know who you are. Whatever bad things you've done I can forgive because of the man you have become."

He looked up at her, knowing he had been defeated. What she was asking of him was not unreasonable, and she did have the right to know. At length, he nodded his agreement. She smiled, before settling back down into his arms to listen to his story.

"Nadir worked as Daroga, that's chief of police, in Mazanderan in Persia. He was a servant to the Shah in the city of Tehran," Erik began, "He was sent to find me in Russia, where I was working as a magician."

Christine's eyes widened. "You were a magician?" she asked, slightly taken aback.

"Indeed, for most of my young adult years I travelled the fairs performing," he replied distantly.

Christine seemed to consider this. She would never have guessed that Erik had been a performer. He had always been so shy. She wondered what had happened in his later years to change him so much. She thought of asking, but did not want to interrupt his story, and she supposed that he would get to that part soon enough anyway.

"The Shah had heard of my skill, and wanted me to be part of his court as his entertainer. So Nadir came to find me. He told me of the riches and power I would earn if I followed him back to Persia. I was greedy, and craved the power he offered, so I accepted. I travelled back to Persia with him the very next day. We reached the city of Tehran, which at that time was a place of squalor and poverty. When I met the Shah, I told him of my displeasure of the architecture in the city. He challenged me to build a new palace outside Ashraf, and told me if I succeeded he would allow me to redesign the entire city.

"Soon I was deployed to entertain the Khanum. She was the Shah's mother, and the true power behind his ruling. She was a formidable woman, who controlled the harem, and she had an eager interest in torture; it seemed to satisfy her boredom. She demanded my presence often, and soon gave me the task of finding new ways to murder. I constructed a torture chamber; a room full of mirrors. I am ashamed to say that many men and women died because of my inventions," he stopped, looking down at his chest in regret. Christine reached over and kissed him on the cheek, throwing him an encouraging smile in a silent urge for him to continue.

"Soon it got out of hand. She paid me in hashish, which only drove my urge to kill. If it were not for Nadir, the vicious cycle would have continued, but he showed me the deadly delights of opium. It calmed me, satiating my lust for death. I focussed all of my attention upon the completion of the palace. Before long, it was complete, and the Shah ordered my assassination."

Christine gasped in horror, "Why would he have you assassinated? Didn't he like the palace?"

"On the contrary, the palace was very much to his liking. He said it was the finest architecture he had ever seen," he replied. Christine threw him a puzzled look so he continued, "He could not allow me to impart my talents elsewhere. His must be the only building of its kind, and he could not risk me going elsewhere and building anything grander."

"So, what happened?" she asked, completely enthralled.

Erik smiled, "Nadir."

"He saved you?" Christine asked.

"He saved me," he echoed in confirmation, "He was the man who was ordered to assassinate me. But he could not bring himself to kill me. He believed he owed me. He faked my death with the body of another man, whom he dressed in my mask and cloak. I escaped and spent the next three years wondering Europe, before I finally settled in Paris."

He did not seem willing to say more on what happened once he reached Paris, but Christine supposed that she knew the most important parts of that time in his life. But one thing he had said had caught her attention. This debt Nadir felt he owed Erik. Not only had Erik mentioned it, but Nadir had too, just a few minutes ago; he had mentioned how Erik had helped his son. Erik had said nothing of Nadir's son.

"Erik," she began, unsure of how to pose the question, "Nadir mentioned earlier that you helped his son. What did you do?"

Erik sighed and closed his eyes. This was clearly a difficult subject for him, but he answered her question.

"Nadir had a son, Reza. When I met him he was very ill. I guessed that he had little over a year left to live, but Nadir seemed oblivious. He told me several doctors had said it was just childish malady, and he would grow out of it, but I knew better. I have read many books and consider myself rather adept at identifying and curing illness. I took a liking to the boy, and he to me. I spent much of his last months with him, making him comfortable and building him toys," he stopped, his eyes showing a deep nostalgia. Quickly, they filled with tears that he fought to hold back from escaping.

"So, Nadir owes you because you made his son happy?" she asked.

"Partly yes, he believes that I gave Reza a happier last year of life. But, I also aided him in a much deeper, and perhaps more sinful way."

Christine looked confused.

"He was heading for a long and painful death. I could not bear to let the boy suffer. So, I told Nadir that it did not have to end in such a fashion. We agreed to give the boy a tonic that would let him slip away painlessly. Murder it may have been, but he did not suffer. My soul was little price to pay for that peace of mind, even if it has plagued me since that day," his voice broke and a solitary tear rolled down his cheek.

"Erik, it was not murder. You saved a little boy from unbearable pain. If anything that saves your soul, but it certainly does not damn you," she reasoned.

"Perhaps I did do the right thing with Reza, but I killed countless other men. I have no excuse for them. I killed, Christine, and for that my soul is forever damned," he spoke brokenly. He lifted his hands up to cover both sides of his face, his fingers clenching and clutching at the sparse hairs on his head in anguish.

Christine reached up and pulled his hands away. He let them fall at his sides and looked up at her, tears now falling freely from his eyes which were filled with grief. It broke Christine's heart.

"Erik, the world has not been kind to you. The torment you have suffered goes far beyond that which any average person could be expected to endure. That makes you special, Erik. I'm not condoning the murders, but there is so much goodness within you, too. Goodness which the cruel world hid from you, forcing you to embrace only the darkness. But you've come out of that dark hole of despair, and you are now a better man than most. And you are a father. You have not killed in years, because at last you have found that hidden goodness, and you have chosen the right path. Life has at last offered your soul redemption, and you have taken it by being who you are now."

He gazed up at her in awe. She had so much faith in him. Perhaps she was right; at last he had a chance to redeem himself. He had been given a family and now he had to prove himself worthy. He smiled through his tears at his revelation. He pulled Christine to him and embraced her lovingly in an attempt to show her how much her words meant. She truly was his salvation. They held each other for what seemed like hours, and Erik soon fell asleep. Christine watched his exhausted face. She was very rarely awake when he was asleep, but when this occurred, she was content just to watch him. His face looked so peaceful, with a childlike innocence exuding from it. She gently traced the pattern of scars that covered his chest, still not sure where they had come from. She knew he had not told her the entire story, but at least he had told her something. And they had the rest of their lives for him to tell her the rest. She soon joined him in his slumber, satisfied that she knew that bit more about her angel than she had before.


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Right so chapter 16…**

**Not much to say about this one except that I hope you like it, and it really is the last bit of calm before the storm for Erik and Christine.**

**Please review and let me know what you think.**

**Much love =)**

Chapter Sixteen: Never Fail to Confound Me

The next morning, Erik awoke early, eager to begin making plans. His talk last night with Christine about Reza had once again ignited his desperation to find his own son. He felt endless sympathy for Nadir having lost his son permanently. Erik had only known his son for a few weeks before he was stolen, and he also had the comfort of knowing the boy was alive. Nadir had had to endure far worse things, having raised the boy alone from birth and then watching him deteriorate before his very eyes.

He climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb the deeply sleeping angel in his arms, and dressed, before heading out of the bedroom and into the living room. He knew that Nadir would be here waiting for him; Nadir was always up at the crack of dawn. The Persian was sat in his armchair reading a newspaper, and he had various other papers laid out across the coffee table in front of him. He did not look up as Erik entered, even though the masked man's presence did not escape his attention.

Erik slumped himself down in the other chair and watched Nadir closely. After a while, the Persian lowered the newspaper, and lifted his gaze to meet Erik's.

"So, Erik, you have a son," he stated, "You never fail to confound me."

Erik's brow furrowed, and his eyes squinted dangerously.

"Indeed, Daroga, you are easily confounded. Is it so unbelievable that Christine would dare to engage in such affairs with me?" Erik asked with acerbity.

"Erik, you know my meaning. The confusion comes upon how on Earth this happened. Last I heard you kidnapped the poor girl, only to let her go. I am struggling to find any opportunity you would have had produce a son, so to speak," Nadir replied, shrugging off Erik's caustic tone.

Erik relaxed, feeling slightly embarrassed at his mockery of his oldest friend. Of course Nadir would never imply such a thing.

"She came to find me," he explained, "on the night before her wedding."

"So why on Earth did you leave for America while she stayed in Paris?"

"I began to believe she had returned out of pity, or perhaps guilt. Plus, I realised that I was no good for her. What kind of a life could I offer her? With him she would have wealth and happiness. So I left," he answered.

Nadir shook his head, seemingly unsurprised. He knew Erik well enough by now. Of course he would throw away his only chance at happiness out of belief that he didn't deserve it.

"Erik, you are a fool. But what's done is done, and there are more important matters at hand, such as finding and retrieving this boy of yours."

Erik nodded in agreement.

"I have brought you all of the papers that contain articles on the matter. Having read through them, there is still very little to work on. All we know is that the police are waiting for your appearance in France, possibly with Christine. On the subject of the Vicomte, we know he has returned to the De Chagny estate with the boy, and he has an armed guard of approximately twenty around the mansion," Nadir explained, rifling through the papers.

"Ok, so I sneak past the guards and steal the boy back," Erik stated simply.

"Be reasonable, Erik," Nadir moaned, shaking his head, "It will not be that easy. With that many men all on red alert at the estate, you have no chance of entering unseen. We must be cleverer than that."

"And how do you propose we get in then, Daroga?" Erik asked exasperatedly.

"We need to make them think that it is safe to remove the guards from the mansion. Or perhaps somehow draw them away with a distraction," Nadir considered thoughtfully.

"Or both," Erik suggested, his eyes lighting up and a slight grin forming on his lips.

"Erik, I know that look anywhere. Tell me the plan," Nadir urged, grinning back.

"Well, what sort of distraction would also make them think it would be safe to remove their guards?" Erik prompted, expecting Nadir to see his plan immediately. When the Persian stared blankly at him, he rolled his eyes and continued, "We stage my return to France. We place a decoy pretending to be me at the docks, feigning having just come off a ship from America. The police arrest him, thinking they've caught me. The guards are drawn away, thinking I've been captured, leaving the De Chagny estate open for invasion."

He sat back in his chair, grinning smugly at his plan as he watched it dawn on his friend. Nadir's face lit up and he returned Erik's grin triumphantly.

"Erik, you really are brilliant," he told the masked magician in awe.

Erik bowed his head slightly, and spread his arms in acknowledgment.

"But who do we use as a decoy?" Nadir asked.

There suddenly came a tap at the front door, which startled both men.

"Use your key, Darius!" Nadir shouted exasperatedly towards the source of the knocking.

They heard the fumbling of keys in a lock, before the door opened to reveal a fairly young olive-skinned man, perhaps in his mid-thirties.

"For goodness sake, boy, how many times do I have to tell you?" Nadir shouted at Darius.

"Sorry, Master," Darius apologised, bowing his head in embarrassment, "I keep forgetting that I have a key."

Nadir rolled his eyes, before turning back to Erik, who was watching the younger Persian man with humour. Darius suddenly noticed the masked man sitting in the chair.

"Monsieur Erik," he spoke nervously, unable to hide his blatant fear of the man, "It has been a long time, Sir."

"Indeed it has, Darius," Erik smiled, "I hope you have been keeping well."

"Very well, thank you, Sir," he bowed slightly.

"Say, Darius, I have a proposition for you," Erik grinned.

"No, Erik, not him," Nadir shook his head warningly, "the fool would mess the whole plan up."

"Nonsense, Daroga," Erik shrugged off the caution, "Darius is just as capable as any man of performing this task, aren't you?"

"Yes, Sir," Darius assured, but paused before asking, "Excuse me for asking, but what task, Sir?"

Erik smiled and Nadir threw his hands in the air in defeat.

"Take a seat, my friend, and I shall explain everything."

Erik and Nadir spent the best part of the morning explaining to the rather incompetent Darius exactly what to do. The plan itself was simple enough, but the list of things that could go wrong was colossal. Erik had been worried that if they played it wrong, Darius would be shot on sight, but Nadir assured Erik that the Vicomte had specifically told the police that Erik should not be killed.

By the time Christine had awoken, dressed and entered the living room, they had just finished the final plans. As Christine entered, the three men stood and welcomed her. She smiled politely, returning the greetings. She walked over and sat beside Erik on the couch, where she was introduced to Darius. Their plan was briefly explained to Christine. Darius was to leave that evening for Calais, and would appear as Erik the next morning. Christine looked wary of the plans, but agreed that it was probably the only way to find her son. She took comfort in the speed at which they were to carry out this plan. If all went well, she could have her son back by tomorrow evening.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

That evening, Erik insisted on accompanying Darius out of Paris to make sure that the inept young Persian did not give away their plans through a foolish slip of the tongue, leaving Christine and Nadir alone.

They sat in uncomfortable silence, Nadir pretending to read a book, waiting for the right time to begin asking Christine the questions that had plagued him ever since he read about the Vicomte's return to France without his wife. Christine was sat on the couch, looking down and examining her hands in her lap nervously. Nadir could tell that her separation from Erik had left her feeling very on edge. She had been less than keen for him to leave at all, but he assured her that it was necessary. It was clear that she felt safe in Erik's presence, but Nadir was still unsure as to her real feelings for his old friend. He feared that perhaps she was using Erik to find her son, which was understandable, but would ultimately lead to heartbreak on Erik's part. He decided that he had to know what he was dealing with here, because if this meant nothing to her then Nadir would be the one to pick up the pieces.

"So, Christine," Nadir began, startling Christine slightly, "you say that Erik is the true father of your son?" He asked the question as nonchalantly as he could manage, as if there was no deeper meaning other than making conversation.

"Yes, Monsieur, he is," Christine nodded.

"Christine, please, call me Nadir," he smiled kindly at her, "After all, with your affiliation to Erik, we are practically family now, my dear."

Christine smiled warmly, thanking the Persian. She began to relax in his presence. It was hard not to; he exuded kindness and understanding, and was clearly gentle and benevolent by nature.

"Forgive me, but I must ask," he began, trying to remain tactful and non-accusing, "are you certain as to the paternity of the child? Do not misunderstand my meaning. I simply worry for Erik; he is my oldest friend, except for Darius, and he is risking a lot for the boy."

"Monsieur, if I was in any doubt I would not have assured Erik that he was Gustave's father," she told him, "but the dates match up perfectly, and the boy has inherited so many of Erik's qualities."

"I suppose I shall see that for myself, when I meet the boy," Nadir smiled again kindly.

"Yes, I suppose you will," Christine returned the smile. It would not be long until she had her son back.

"And once again, Christine, you must excuse my candidness, but I must ask. What is Erik to you?" he asked with a slight frown, aware that his phrasing was rather cryptic.

"I'm not sure I understand," Christine replied.

"I mean to say, what do you feel for him? I only ask because I know how strongly he feels about you and I fear he may become too intense in his love for you, which I understand would not be well received by yourself if you did not fully return such sentiments."

Christine seemed rather taken aback at his words, but she understood his concerns, so took no offence.

"Monsieur Khan," she began.

"Nadir," the Persian interrupted in correction.

"Nadir," she began again, "I appreciate your trepidation. I understand that Erik is a very old friend of yours, and you are bound to worry for his wellbeing. But I have never been more certain in my life of the validity of my feelings for Erik. For the last ten years of my life, all I wished for was another chance to tell him how much he meant to me. The day found out that he was the mysterious man who had brought me to America, I didn't dare to believe it was true. At first I was angry with him; he had left me alone all those years ago without so much as a goodbye. I had spent the last ten years in misery, and I blamed him for leaving. But now, I realise that this is an opportunity; another chance to have what we never could before. I cannot imagine being without him now, because even now that he is not here, although I know that he will be back soon, all I can think about is his return. I've seen his face and I've seen his soul, and neither epitomise the evil he has always been told exists there. So now I'm giving him all the love he deserves but has never before received."

Nadir was blown away by the passion she exuded as she spoke of Erik. The doubt he had of her love for the masked man dissipated in an instant, and he felt guilty for ever thinking it.

"I apologise for my scepticism, Christine," he said sincerely, "It is now clear to me that your love for Erik is as strong as his love for you. I am embarrassed for my incredulity in the matter."

"There is no reason to be embarrassed. Given our history, I would have asked the same thing in your position. I just hope I have convinced you of the authenticity of my words."

"Indeed you have, my dear. And I thank you for your understanding," he smiled.

Christine nodded. She was glad that some of the awkwardness that comes with unfamiliarity had dissolved. She could understand why Erik liked this man; he was sincere honest and candid, all qualities that Christine suspected Erik valued.

Their brief silence was interrupted by the sound of a key turning in the lock on the front door. Moments later, Erik swaggered into the room, pulling off his coat and throwing it onto the empty armchair. Christine stood quickly and rushed over to greet her masked man. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. He returned her embrace with equal fervour, holding her tightly against him.

Nadir watched from his chair. He could almost see their love engulfing them like fire, as though it were an all-powerful separate entity. He suddenly missed his wife, Rookheya, who had died many years ago, before he had even met Erik. He envied the love that the pair before him shared, but it also brought him some peace. He had always feared that Erik would never find someone, not because of his face, but because he himself had never believed he would. His self-hatred was so intense that he could not imagine any woman loving him. Because of this he had almost lost the one woman who had ever loved him truly, but he had been offered a second chance.

He could see that Christine was the perfect match for this complex human being. The man he had always known to be angry, sarcastic and bitter now seemed to be happy. His disposition had changed from one of anger and depression to that of a man who was content and loved. Nadir thanked his God that Erik had at last been redeemed.


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Ok so a short, but pretty important chapter here.**

**Once again, thank you so much for the reviews.**

**We are drawing ever closer to the final 'battle' so to speak, although there won't be an actual battle xD**

**At least I haven't planned one but nothing ever seems to go to my plans in this story.**

**Anyway, please enjoy and keep the reviews coming!**

Chapter Seventeen: Anyone Who Was Not This Man

Darius watched out of the window of the small inn at the docks. He had stayed there overnight, but had managed to get no sleep whatsoever. The task that lay before him was enormous, and if it went wrong not only could he end up dead or in jail, but so could the master and monsieur Erik. So much rested on his shoulders and he was feeling the pressure. It had not helped that Erik had insisted on accompanying him part of the way to Calais; being alone with the masked man made him seem far more terrifying. However, Darius had found that Erik had been surprisingly patient with him. He had just reassured the young Persian on what he had to do, and tried to give him the confidence to do it. It was a far cry from how he would have handled it back in Persia; no doubt he would have used fear to convince Darius to perform well.

The ship that Erik was supposedly on was due to dock in little under an hour, and with each second that passed Darius became more and more nervous. He knew what he had to do; Erik had made sure of that. As he looked out over the docks, he saw the vast number of gendarmes, all on red alert. He looked over to where the ship would dock, and saw the little landing platform just off to the side which would be obscured from view when the ship was present. It was purely there as a place to secure the ship to the docks, so no passengers would exit there.

Darius continued to play out his instructions in his head over and over again, only stopping when he caught sight of the ship approaching the docks. Now he had to get ready. He dressed into his black suit, and threw his travel bag over his shoulder. To anyone outside, he would look like any other passenger waiting to catch a ship. He then left the inn, and wondered out into the crowds of people. It was slowly getting busier as people gathered to welcome home their friends and family. Darius began to edge slowly closer to the landing platform as inconspicuously as he could manage.

As the ship pulled into the pier, and the crowd's attention was diverted, he slipped completely onto the platform, and was quickly hidden from view as the great steel beast docked. The ship was about a metre from him, where a ladder rose up the height of the side of the boat, up onto the deck. With no time to waste, he leapt onto the ladder, cursing as his foot almost slipped. He could not afford to fall into the water, and he had very little time to get onboard before the passengers would be let off. He raced up the ladder, scaling the twenty feet of steel with ease.

As he reached the deck, he scanned around himself. When he saw nobody watching him, he threw himself over the railings onto the wooden floor of the ship. He then raced into the corridors inside, past the numerous excited passengers who were flooding out of their rooms, desperate to set foot on dry land. Just ahead of him, there was an empty room with the door slightly ajar. He bolted for it, closing the door behind him and locking it. He quickly dropped his bag from his shoulder to the floor and began to empty out the contents. He pulled out a black cloak, which had a white mask tucked inside with a small jar of wax. He opened the jar, and pulling a comb out of his pocket, he swept the wax through his dark hair, slicking it back. He then picked up the white mask, and placed it over his cheek, before donning the black travel cloak. Last of all he pulled a black fedora from the bag, placing it on his head. He quickly checked his appearance in the small mirror on the wall. He was startled as to how much he looked like Erik.

He did not linger on this thought too long, as he had very little time. Leaving the empty bag behind, he began to head for the exit of the ship. He joined the back of the queue of people waiting to disembark. Luckily, nobody seemed to notice his appearance; they were all too wrapped up in the thought of seeing their families again. Had this not been the case, Darius suspected they would have noticed straight away the fact that he was wearing a mask, and that there had been no passengers of his description on board for the entire week.

His thoughts were disturbed, however, as the ship's staff opened the doors, and people began to flood down the ramp onto the docks. He took a deep breath, praying that whatever was coming would not hurt too much; he had no idea how the gendarmes would react to his appearance.

When it was his turn to move, he began to shuffle forward down the ramp. He kept his hat low over his face at first, as though he was trying to hide his face. He hoped that this would ignite some curiosity and suspicion in the police. Halfway down the ramp, he chanced a glance, and lifted his eyes. He saw one policeman pointing up at him, before several began to approach. He took a deep breath; he knew that the plan was working but this didn't lessen his fear.

He looked up again as he reached the bottom of the ramp, and saw several gendarmes running towards him. This was it, time for the real plan. He remembered Erik's instructions, 'as soon as they start to approach, run. If you do not, they may be suspicious as to whether you are really me. If you run, they will assume it's me and they should arrest you straight away.' At the memory of the words, his legs kicked into action, and he bolted off to the side and began to run down the length of the docks, the gendarmes in hot pursuit.

He did not reach far before he heard laboured breathing and heavy footsteps behind him. He chanced a glimpse behind to see how close they were, and he was immediately tackled to the floor. He grunted in pain as they pressed him down onto the wood of the pier. He struggled in an attempt to put up a fight, but was met by a sharp pain in the back of his head as a baton was brought down heavily on his skull. The world around him span, before fading to black.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

It had just gone midday when there was a visitor to the De Chagny estate. Raoul had been in the middle of his lunch. He was in the dining room with Gustave; eating was one of the few occasions that Gustave was permitted to leave his room. The butler, Pierre, entered the dining room and announced the presence of a police officer. Raoul immediately got to his feet and entered the hall, where the policeman stood waiting. It was the same man who had been in charge when Raoul and Gustave had returned to Paris.

"Ah, good day Monsieur," Raoul greeted the man politely, "May I offer you a drink?"

"No, thank you, Monsieur De Chagny. I have come with some news of this man," he announced, "he arrived by ship in Calais just this morning, Monsieur. He attempted to run but was quickly caught and arrested. He is now being held in a maximum security prison in Calais."

"That really is excellent news!" Raoul declared smugly, "Are you certain it is him?"

"Yes, monsieur we have no doubt of his identity. He exited the ship with the rest of the passengers, wearing a white mask over the right side of his face and a black fedora and cloak. He also appeared to be attempting to hide his face, and when he was spotted he made a run for it. I cannot see why anyone who was not this man would try and escape the police," he explained confidently.

"Excellent, monsieur, just excellent," Raoul grinned, clapping his hands together in triumph. Part of him had thought that perhaps the monster would never arrive in France; after all, Raoul had left him to burn. But as usual, that slimy worm had evaded a death which he so much deserved. But no matter, because he had turned up and he had been caught.

He called Gustave into the hallway, and the boy appeared looking confused.

"Gustave, my boy. Fantastic news, they have found the monster and they have locked him up. He can no longer get to you," Raoul told the boy happily.

Gustave's face at first seemed relieved, but then concerned.

"But Father, what of Mother? Has she been arrested too?" he asked quietly.

Raoul turned questioningly towards the police officer.

"I'm afraid there was no sign of your wife, Monsieur. He left the ship alone," he stated.

"Very well, Monsieur, no doubt he has left her in America. I suppose we shall have to decide what actions to take with her. But for now, we can rest easily knowing that madman is safely behind bars," Raoul told the police officer.

"Indeed, sir, you may be sure of that. I of course must remove the guards from your estate now that you are safe; they will most certainly be needed elsewhere," the officer explained.

"Of course," Raoul nodded in understanding.

With that, the policeman rounded up the gendarmes from the estate. When they had left, Gustave turned to Raoul.

"Father, are you sure we are safe?" he asked uneasily.

"Yes, of course we are. The monster is locked away, so he can no longer reach us. Plus, if you are worried, we still have Frank and Arnaud," Raoul reassured the boy, gesturing to his two henchmen who stood in the doorway, listening.

Gustave looked appeased at the mention of the henchmen. With the size of Frank, who was a burly brute, the monster would have no chance of getting to Gustave without at least a few broken limbs. He just prayed that the prison would hold his real father, and hoped that he would never have to see him again.


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Wow, Chapter 18 already! Doesn't feel all that long ago I was writing chapter one with the intention of just writing one chapter xD**

**I just wanna thank everyone for your support with this story…Without you I would never have bothered writing it.**

**But back to the story, and we are returning to Erik and Christine, and the final plan!**

**Will they get Gustave back? Just gonna have to read and find out!**

**Let me know what you think, and once again thanks for all the reviews so far!**

Chapter Eighteen: The Demon You Are

Erik, Nadir and Christine sat in the living room of the Persian's house. By now, if everything had gone to plan, Darius should have been arrested. Nadir had hired a spy to keep an eye on the De Chagny estate, who would return to tell them if there were any changes there. Meanwhile, they sat and formulated a new plan; one which involved breaking into the mansion and rescuing Gustave.

Christine, having lived in the place for ten years, knew every possible entrance. They used this knowledge to work out the best places to break in. Assuming that the guards would be removed, most of the mansion would be unwatched. They planned to break in after nightfall, so Christine suggested that her son was likely to be in his room. It was on the second floor, so would be difficult to reach, especially since Erik would only be able to gain entrance on the ground floor. The best place she could think of for Erik to break in was through the window in Raoul's study. For the past ten years, this window had remained constantly unlocked. Christine knew this because it was where Raoul used to sneak in and out in the middle of the night to satisfy his alcoholic needs. From here, the staircase was just across the hallway.

Christine had insisted on her accompanying Erik to the estate, but his refusal had been unequivocal. She was terrified that Erik could be caught, and then who knew what Raoul would do to him? But he promised her that he wouldn't be found, and that they'd have their son back by dawn. As much as she had wanted to protest, she found that she couldn't disbelieve him; he was so certain that he would succeed that it was almost impossible to believe otherwise. So she agreed to let him go.

Soon, the message came from Nadir's spies that the police guard had been removed from the estate. So far everything had gone to plan and Erik hoped that their success would continue as such. They now had a few hours to wait before their plan could continue; they couldn't risk breaking in during daylight hours.

As night fell, Erik stood from the sofa where he had been sat beside Christine. Nadir had briefly gone out to liaise with his spies one more time to make sure it was still safe to advance. Christine watched Erik as he pulled on his black cloak. He fastened it securely, and turned to face Christine when he felt her eyes on his back. She was still sat on the couch, and her eyes shone with concern and anxiety. He paced back over to her, and stood before her. He reached down, taking her hands and pulling her up to stand in front of him, holding their hands together by their sides.

"Christine, it'll be ok," he whispered gently, his face so close to hers.

"How do you know?" she asked him feebly, her voice wavering with the threat of oncoming tears.

"I just do," he told her, resting his forehead against hers, "And then we can be a proper family. You, me and our son," he closed his eyes as he revelled in the perfect fantasy.

Christine smiled warmly. She could only imagine how much his words meant to him. She just prayed he was right, and that soon they would all be together. She reached up and slid her arms around his neck, bringing her lips up to meet his.

Nadir returned to find the pair locked in their tender embrace, and felt remorseful for having to disturb it. Erik looked up as he heard the Persian enter.

"Forgive me for intruding," Nadir apologised.

Erik nodded. He pulled away from Christine but kept hold of one of her hands.

"So, is everything still on track?" Erik asked.

"Indeed it is," Nadir confirmed, "My friends tell me that is appears as though the household has settled down for the night. There have been no lights on for the past half an hour."

"Excellent," Erik nodded, "Then it is time that we got going, my friend."

It had been decided that Nadir would accompany Erik up to the mansion, but would not enter himself. Christine had been worried, but Erik had assured her that it was just a precaution in case something went wrong. At least Nadir would know if Erik had been caught and could come and get help.

Nadir nodded, and began to pull on his cloak. Erik turned to Christine and lifted his free hand up, resting it on her cheek.

"I'll be back before you miss me," he told her, an encouraging smile on his face.

She nodded, reaching up again and kissing him. He pulled away, throwing her another smile, before turning and heading towards the front door. Nadir bowed to Christine, who returned the gesture, and began to follow Erik. The masked man held the door open for his friend, who nodded in thanks before stepping out of the door. Erik looked back at Christine.

"I love you," he told her.

"I love you, too," she replied, trying to put a smile on her face, even though she felt as though a part of her was being ripped away as he left her.

He winked, before turning and walking through the doorway, pulling it closed behind him. Christine fell back onto the couch, and began praying unwaveringly for Erik's safe and swift return with her son.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

Erik and Nadir travelled to the De Chagny estate by foot, as it was only a mile or so away. They moved quickly, Erik ahead of Nadir setting the pace, with the older Persian man behind him struggling to keep up.

Soon, they reached one of the hedges that surrounded the gardens of the mansion, where there was a small gap. The pair slipped through it silently, and began to head for the part of the house where Christine had said the study could be found. They travelled across the gardens, hidden by the darkness.

Soon, they reached the outside wall of the study. Sure enough, the window was unlocked and was slightly ajar. Erik crept up to the window, and peered inside. There was no light coming from the house, so it was difficult to see anything, but the room appeared to be empty.

"I'm going in," Erik whispered to Nadir, gesturing to the window.

Nadir nodded in comprehension.

"Very well. I will wait here and keep watch," Nadir replied.

"Nadir, if anything goes wrong, do not come to help me. Just run away," Erik ordered his friend.

"Of course," Nadir replied. He knew Erik was right; it would do no good to get himself caught too.

Erik threw a confident smile at his friend, before pulling the window open and sliding inside. Thanks to the darkness outside, Erik's eyes were already well adjusted to the lack of light. He could see that the room was empty. He noticed a single door across the room, and headed for it. He stopped before opening it, pressing his ear against the wood in search if any sound that suggested the presence of a person on the other side.

When all he heard was silence and the quiet ticking of the clock in the study, he reached for the handle and began to pull the door open. He stopped halfway, and peered around the wood to make sure it was empty in the hallway. There were several doors coming off the corridor, and ahead of him stood the grand staircase, that led up to the higher levels of the house.

He crept out of the doorway and towards the stairs, constantly looking around for any signs of life. Softly, deftly, he skulked up the stairs and onto the second floor landing. He looked around at the line of doors coming off the hallway, until he spotted the one he was looking for. It was unmistakable, as it had the boy's name written across it in colourful wooden letters.

He edged towards the door, listening for any sounds that suggested movement on the other side of any of the doors. He reached Gustave's room, and silently prayed that Christine had been right, and that the boy would be in here. He slowly turned the doorknob, careful not to make any sound, and inched the door open. He peered inside, and saw the sleeping form of Gustave in his bed. Erik released the breath he didn't realise he had been holding, and slipped into the room, closing the door silently behind him.

He crept over to his son's bed, trying to control his emotions as he got closer to the boy. He stopped beside Gustave, and got down onto his knees. He slowly reached out and placed his hand on the side of the boy's head, and stroked his hair back from his face. He smiled as the boy began to stir, and moved his hand to his son's shoulder, nudging it slightly.

"Gustave," he whispered.

The boy's eyes suddenly shot open, and he bolted upright.

"Gustave, it's me," Erik smiled at the boy, reaching out to him.

"Get away from me!" Gustave cried, making Erik wince at the sudden noise.

Gustave frantically crawled out the other side of his bed and ran backwards towards the far wall, his wide, frightened eyes never leaving Erik's. Erik, confused at his son's outburst, got up and walked around the bed towards the cowering boy.

"Gustave, what's wrong?" he asked quietly, "I'm here to take you home."

"Leave me alone, please," Gustave whimpered, "Please, don't hurt me."

"I'm not going to hurt you," he tried to reason. He didn't understand why Gustave was behaving like this.

"Liar!" the boy suddenly shouted, "Father! Father! The monster's here, he's come to get me!"

Erik's heart contracted in anguish at his son's harsh words. He lifted his hand to his chest at the sharp pain. He panicked as he heard footsteps on the other side of the door. He tried to run but his feet wouldn't move fast enough. The door burst open, and he was pounced on.

He struggled with his attacker, managing to get a hold on the man's neck. He pulled the man up to stand, with one arm wrapped tightly around his neck, the man's back against Erik's chest. He pulled out a knife and held it to his attacker's throat. Only then did he realise that it was the Vicomte in his grasp.

Suddenly, the room was flooded with light, and a second man appeared in the doorway. He was a large, burly man who Erik did not recognise. He began to advance, but Erik stopped him as he threatened to use the knife on the man who was held helplessly in his grasp. Raoul squirmed in Erik's hold, trying to free himself, but he was all too aware of the silver blade pressed against his throat. Gustave still cowered in the corner, crying in fear.

"What have you done to my son?" Erik growled in Raoul's ear.

"Nothing but given him the truth," Raoul sneered, "Now he knows the monster you really are."

Erik pushed the blade harder against the skin of Raoul's neck, drawing a trickle of blood as it lightly pierced the skin. Raoul winced, but grinned; he knew he was getting to the demon.

"You're the real monster here," Erik snarled.

"The boy doesn't think so, do you Gustave?" Raoul shouted to the boy, "Tell your father exactly what he is!"

"A monster," Gustave echoed quietly through his fearful tears.

Erik's anguish at his son's words was immediately transformed into anger, and he put more pressure on the blade.

"And now you kill me, like the demon you are!" Raoul scorned.

Suddenly, Erik stopped.

"Well, come on then! Kill me!"

"No, you're right. If I kill you then I really am a monster," Erik said, more to himself than the others in the room, "I'm not that man anymore."

He loosened his grasp on Raoul, letting the knife fall to the floor. Raoul struggled from his grip, and turned to face the masked man.

"Coward," he disparaged.

"I'd rather be a coward than a murderer," Erik justified, exuding equanimity.

Raoul laughed.

"Frank," he called to the man who still stood in the doorway.

Frank came forward to stand before Erik. He grinned at the masked man, before raising his huge fist and launching it straight for Erik's skull. Erik took three punches from the man, before falling to the floor, unconscious.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

Nadir stood waiting by the study window. He knew something had gone wrong; he had heard Gustave's cries and seen the house flood with light. His instinct had been to run in and aid Erik, but he knew it would do no good. So he waited for any sign of his friend. Luckily, Erik had left the study door open, so Nadir could see out into the hallway.

He did not have to wait long; soon he saw the Vicomte walking down the stairs, followed by a huge man who held an unconscious Erik over his shoulder. Nadir gasped as he caught sight of his friend. His mask had been knocked clean off his face, which was covered in blood. Nadir swore silently, before turning on his heel and running back through the grounds towards the hole in the hedge.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

Arnaud was on grounds duty. Since the armed guard had been removed, the Vicomte had forced him to circle the mansion to watch for any intruders. He had heard that the man he was protecting the Vicomte and his son from had been arrested in Calais, so he did not see why this was necessary.

Nevertheless, he did his job and walked around the house over and over again. He was soon surprised to find a lone figure standing outside the study window. At first, Arnaud had thought the figure was attempting to break in, but he seemed to just be watching. Arnaud was intrigued by the strange behaviour, and decided not to attack the man just yet. He remained hidden out of sight and waited to see what the figure would do.

Soon the house was lit up, and he heard the boy screaming from upstairs. This seemed to have startled the man at the window, but still he made no move to get inside.

However, it was not long before Arnaud heard the man gasp, and then turn and run off down the gardens. Silently, and staying hidden in the night, he followed the figure down the grounds and through a hole in the hedge.


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: Hey guys…sorry bout the cliff-hanger last chapter, couldn't resist!**

**Once again thanks to everyone who has reviewed…can't stress how much I appreciate them all!**

**So this chapter is quite short, and most of you aren't gonna like what happens in it!**

**But oh well =)**

**Anyway, hope you enjoy it (even if just a little bit xD)**

**Please review and tell me your thoughts =D**

**Much love!**

Chapter Nineteen: A Lesson or Two

Frank carried Erik down to the cellar of the mansion, where he bound the unconscious man's hands together and chained him to the wall by his ankle, whilst Raoul looked on in satisfaction. When he was confident that Erik was secure, he left Frank to watch him. When the monster awoke, the fun would begin.

It was not long before Erik began to rouse. The first thing he felt was the pain raging through his head. He then became aware of the stickiness of blood on his face, and then was met by overwhelming panic when he tried to wipe it away and found his hands tied together. He began to pull against his restraints, desperate to be freed of the ropes. When he realised that there was no way he could pull himself free, he tried to calm himself, and began to look at his surroundings.

He was in a dark room, with just a little light flooding in from a slightly ajar doorway at the top of a small flight of stairs. The walls and floor seemed to be made of stone, and there were no windows. It was also very cold and dank. It was then that he noticed the bulky figure sitting upon the steps, and everything came flooding back to him. He began to panic, and his movements caught the attention of Frank, who looked at him briefly, before running up the stairs and through the doorway.

Erik swore, knowing what was coming. Sure enough, little over a minute later Frank returned led by a smiling Raoul. The pair walked down the steps, Frank coming to a halt behind Raoul, who stood over Erik.

"Monsieur Phantom," he greeted politely, "so nice for you to join us again."

Erik glared up at the amused figure stood above him. He struggled up to his knees in an attempt to gain some height. He tried to stand fully, but his head was spinning and with each attempt he fell back to his knees.

"What do you want, boy?" Erik growled.

"I want you to suffer. I want you to lose everything, just as I have," Raoul sneered.

Erik laughed humourlessly, causing Raoul to grit his teeth with impatience.

"Where is Christine?" Raoul asked pointedly.

"Like I'd tell you," Erik shook his head.

"Oh I think you will tell me," Raoul smiled, "I have ways to persuade you."

"Like what? I do not fear torture if that's what you're thinking," Erik frowned.

"You know, I hadn't thought of that. But now you say it, it doesn't seem like such a bad idea," Raoul laughed evilly.

"It won't work on me," Erik warned.

"Let us see, shall we?" Raoul sniggered, "Frank."

Frank grinned and stepped forward. He delivered a hefty kick to Erik's face. Erik was thrown backwards into the stone wall. He looked up at the huge man, grinning.

"That all you've got?" he jeered.

He was silenced as Frank bent over, picking him up with one hand and pushing his back against the wall. He held him against the cold stone by the throat, and began throwing fist after fist at Erik's midriff. Erik winced as each punch made contact with his stomach and chest. When the attack finally ceased and Erik was released from Frank's hold, he fell to his knees, clasping his stomach and coughing furiously. He tasted blood, and felt it trickle down his bottom lip, and it took him a moment to realise that it was probably coming from his lungs.

He did not have long to relax, however, as he felt himself lifted up again, but this time the attack continued on his face. Punch after punch made contact with his cheeks, and it did not take long for him to start losing consciousness. Only then did Frank relent, and let Erik fall to the floor. He lay against the cool stone, which soothed the burning in his bloodied and bruised face.

Raoul crouched down closer to Erik.

"Now, where is Christine?" he asked quietly, yet threateningly.

It took Erik a few moments to find his voice behind the pain.

"I told you, torture doesn't work on me," he rasped through his damaged lungs.

Raoul laughed in disbelief. He had no doubt that no amount of harm to the monster's body would get him an answer. He had to be cleverer than that.

"Perhaps not," Raoul began, "How about we get your son down here? Perhaps if Frank focussed some attention on him, then you'd be more willing to share some information," he suggested with a deadly calm.

Erik felt a mixture of both fear and uncontrollable anger bubbling up inside him.

"You wouldn't dare," he tested.

"Oh believe me, monsieur, that boy means nothing to me. I'd have no second thoughts about breaking any one of his limbs to get what I want," Raoul sneered.

Erik believed him.

"Don't hurt him," Erik resorted to begging.

"Then tell me where my wife is," Raoul smiled.

"She is not your wife anymore. You lost that right," Erik growled.

Raoul laughed, before turning to Frank.

"Frank, would you be so kind as to fetch this wretch's spawn. That way we can teach both of these monsters a lesson or two."

"Don't you touch him!" Erik roared, before finding the strength to leap to his feet.

He lunged at Frank, who had turned to walk up the stairs, but his restraints held him back. The huge man turned, throwing his fist into Erik's head. Erik was knocked unconscious with the force and he fell to the floor with a thud, fresh blood covering his face and running down over his chest, seeping into the white fabric of his shirt.

"You idiot! I wanted him awake, you moron!" Raoul bellowed at his henchman.

Frank looked stunned, before apologising profusely to his master. Raoul rolled his eyes.

"Go and find Arnaud will you?" Raoul demanded, "I'll go and fetch the boy. I need him ready for when the monster awakes."

"Yes, Master," Frank complied, before wandering up the stairs.

Raoul glared down at the comatose figure on the ground before him. He felt ten years of repressed anger welling up inside him at the sight of this thing that had ruined everything. He delivered one last kick to Erik's face, before turning on his heel and marching up the stairs; if the monster was unconscious, then he would have to settle for the boy to take the blame.

As Raoul walked out of the cellar, slamming the door in fury behind him, he didn't notice the small, frightened figure lurking in the hallway. Gustave was breathing erratically. He had been watching in the doorway, and had heard and seen everything that had happened in the cellar. He didn't understand; Raoul had told him that his father wanted him dead, but then what had just happened made no sense!

He had heard Raoul tell Frank to hurt his father, and then had watched as the so-called monster was beaten unconscious. But what really frightened him was when Raoul had said that he was going to hurt Gustave. And then, perhaps most confusing of all, his father had tried to stop Raoul. It was as if they had switched places, and Gustave didn't know which way round was true.

He thought back over the last few months. When he had been in America, his real father had always been kind to him, and gentle. Raoul had been the one who started that fire, and Raoul had always been a horrible father. So why had Gustave ever believed Raoul? He couldn't believe how blind he had been, but now it was so obvious. Raoul was the bad guy, who was pretending to be the good guy. His father was trying to protect him.

But what now? His father was unconscious down in the cellar, and Raoul was looking for Gustave. He had to get out and get help, before his father was killed.

He jumped out of his hiding place and began to run for the front door of the mansion. He was almost there, when he felt something tug on his collar and stop him. He looked round, and saw the furious face of Raoul, glaring down at him.

"Where do you think you are going, boy?" Raoul asked angrily.

Gustave struggled in his grasp.

"Get off me!" he shouted in fear.

"So, saw everything did you?" Raoul asked as he realised where Gustave must have been hiding, "Good. Then you know what's coming to you then, don't you, you little bastard!" he spat.

"I hate you!" Gustave shouted before kicking Raoul in the shin.

Raoul winced as the boy's foot made contact with his leg. He grabbed the boy by his hair, and threw him to the ground. Gustave cried out in pain as his body made contact with the wooden floor, but he quickly got to his knees and began punching Raoul's legs. Raoul sniggered, before kicking out at the boy, throwing him off. He then kicked out again, his foot landing hard against Gustave's cheek. The boy howled, falling back and clutching his face.

Raoul grabbed him by the collar, picking him up and dragging him up the stairs. Gustave made no attempt to fight back as Raoul threw him into his room, locking the door from the outside. Gustave pounded his fists on the inside of the door. Raoul walked away, his anger boiling inside him and his fists clenching. He stormed down the stairs, where he was met by a very out of breath Arnaud.

"Where have you been?" Raoul asked furiously.

"Forgive me, master," Arnaud apologised, his breathing erratic as though he had been running, "But I have good news. I was outside on grounds duty, when I spotted someone standing outside the study window, just watching. I heard Gustave screaming and next thing I know, the man's run off down the gardens. So I followed him."

"Where did he go?" Raoul asked impatiently.

"I tracked him to a house, just down in the town. I didn't follow him in; I thought it best to report to you first, monsieur."

"Very good, Arnaud. Can you remember where this place is?"

"Yes, master," Arnaud nodded.

"Then we must go immediately. I am sure that this is where Christine is hiding."

Arnaud nodded. Frank appeared in the doorway, and Raoul instructed him to guard the boy while they were out. They then set off in Raoul's carriage to find the mysterious man from the study window, and anyone he so happened to be hiding.


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N: Hey guys! Sorry this one took a little longer, but I wasn't completely happy with it so I've been tweaking it for a couple of days..**

**So chapter 20, and we are slowly drawing to the end. I'm sure you'll all be glad to get rid of me xD**

**Anyways, please review and I hope you enjoy the chapter :)**

Chapter Twenty: Still a Wanted Man

Christine waited alone at Nadir's house. The men had been gone for over an hour now, and with each second that passed without their return, Christine became more and more anxious. She began to ask the questions that she had forbidden herself to think of until now; what if Erik had been caught? What if Raoul had hurt Gustave?

She got up from the chair and began to pace, twisting her hands together in apprehension. She was startled as the door of the house burst open. She was relieved for a moment, thinking it was Erik returning with her son, but her smile rapidly faded as a breathless Nadir flew through the door, slamming it behind him.

He took one look at Christine, before looking down at the floor and cursing loudly. Christine tensed at her new friend's behaviour.

"Nadir," she began slowly, "where's Erik?"

Nadir fell down into his chair, head in his hands. Christine's breathing quickened as panic began to rise within her.

"Where is he, Nadir?" she asked again, her composure slipping away quickly.

Nadir raised his head from his hands to look at her. His eyes were shining with unshed tears, making Christine's heart jump into her throat. Still, she looked at him expectantly.

"I'm not sure exactly what happened," Nadir began slowly, "All I saw was…" he trailed off.

"What? What did you see?" she asked anxiously.

"He was being carried down the stairs by a man, who was being led by the Vicomte. He looked unconscious, and his mask was gone…There was blood on his face," Nadir sighed, his head falling into his hands again.

Christine felt like someone had punched her in the chest. All the air seemed to be forced out of her lungs, and she felt she was drowning. The room began to spin.

Nadir looked up and saw Christine's face turning red, her hand clasped to her stomach.

"Christine, breathe," he told her firmly, jumping up and taking hold of her arms.

She still refused to draw breath. It was obvious she was having a panic attack.

"Breathe," he told her, trying to remain calm himself.

When she still didn't comply, he grabbed her shoulders, and forced her to look at him.

"Christine, breathe," he instructed again, his eyes boring into hers.

She seemed to snap out of her paralysis, and she suddenly drew in a deep breath. She coughed and doubled over as she tried to suck in as much air as she could. Nadir sighed in relief, and supported her until her coughs had subsided. He then gently lowered her into a chair, trying to keep her as calm as possible.

Once she had calmed down, the tears began to fall. She broke down completely, sobbing uncontrollably into her hands. Nadir sat beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder in comfort. She leaned into him in search of security. They remained like this for a long time, both trying to come to terms with what had happened.

Nadir knew that Erik's capture could mean terrible things. He could only guess how the Vicomte would react to his intruder; he had already seen some of the damage caused when Erik was carried down the stairs, and he imagined that this was nothing compared to what was to come. As Erik had said, the Vicomte had clearly lost his mind, and with it all sense of rationality. With Raoul in such a state, Erik was in very real danger of losing his life, and Nadir had just fled, leaving his friend in the hands of a madman. It remained to be seen whether this was the right decision. If Nadir had intervened, perhaps he could have saved Erik. But then again, Nadir's capture could have been the alternative result. And then where would they be? At least this way Christine had not been left wondering what had happened to them, and Nadir could start thinking of a way to rescue his friend. But right now, he had to support Christine because as worried as he was for Erik, Christine would be a hundred times more worried.

Christine sat in Nadir's embrace, feeling as if the world was falling down around her head. How can it have gone so wrong? Erik had promised her that it would be easy; that he would simply grab Gustave and run home to her. What had happened to bring about such a contrasting result? But the more she questioned this, the more she realised that it didn't even matter what had gone wrong. All that mattered was the fact that the love of her life had been captured by her insane husband. Had this happened a few months ago, Christine would not have worried for Erik's safety; she could never have imagined Raoul harming anyone. But now, Raoul had lost his senses, and even Christine could not fathom what he might be capable of. She sobbed harder, praying silently that Erik would be alright.

Suddenly, the front door burst open. Nadir leapt to his feet, whipping round to face the intruder. Christine heard the piercing crack of a gunshot, and Nadir flew backwards into the wall, landing on the floor with a thud, blood spewing alarmingly from his arm. Christine cried out, jumping up and turning towards the door.

She gasped and her hands flew to her mouth as Raoul stepped over the threshold, a bitter sneer on his face.

"Christine," he stated without emotion, "it's been a while."

Christine stayed silent, unable to speak.

"No greeting?" he asked, laughing humourlessly, "It seems that thing has rubbed off his bad manners on you."

"He is not a thing!" she retorted irately.

He sniggered at her assertion.

"You speak so passionately about him. I wonder how you would react if I told you the state he is currently in," he mocked her teasingly.

"Raoul, if you've hurt him…" she threatened, unsure of the ending of her sentence herself. Her confidence had suddenly returned to her, but she still did not know what to say. She just wanted to scream.

"You'll do what my dear? Call the police? I don't think so, he is still a wanted man," he sneered.

Christine swallowed, knowing that he had got her there. What exactly could she do? She turned to look at Nadir. She noticed that the bullet had hit him in the bicep, so the damage was, hopefully, not life-threatening. He was, nevertheless, unconscious, which Christine supposed was due to the impact with the wall. Raoul watched as Christine looked over at her friend.

"He's lucky," he began, "The bullet didn't hit him anywhere important."

"What do you want, Raoul?" Christine asked helplessly.

"I want my life back," he stated simply, "I want my wife, and my son, and my happy family all back together like nothing had ever gone wrong."

"But it did go wrong. And it was both our faults, not our son's, so why punish him?" she asked.

"Both our faults?" he shouted, "How am I at fault? Was it my fault that you never loved me? That you loved him? Was it my fault that every second of our marriage you wished it had been him?"

"Yes, I loved him. But, Raoul, I loved you, too. I pledged my life to you, and you threw it all back with your drinking and your gambling. It was as much your fault as it is mine!" she shouted back.

"No, it was his fault!" Raoul sneered, "That monster brainwashed you. Made you think you loved him!"

"I did love him, I still do!" she cried, "And do not call him a monster!"

Raoul shook his head angrily at his wife.

"Like it or not, Christine, he is a monster. And if you want him to live, then you'd better come with me right now," he warned, tired of pointless arguing.

"Go with you where?" she asked suspiciously.

"Back to the house," he told her, "where your son and your lover are both waiting for you to rescue them," he taunted.

"Fine," she agreed.

"Good," he smiled with faked politeness, "Arnaud!" he shouted outside.

Arnaud bustled into the house, making his way over to Nadir. He took hold of the Persian and began to drag him out of the house.

"No, leave him alone," Christine demanded as Arnaud dragged Nadir out of the front door.

"You are in no position to make demands, Christine," Raoul jeered.

Christine silenced herself, knowing that he was right. Right now, all she cared about was seeing her son and Erik. She followed Raoul out of the house, closing the front door behind her. Raoul held open the door of the waiting hansom, and she climbed inside, glaring at her husband as she passed him. Nadir was already inside, laid down across the opposite seat. Christine sat down on the empty seat, and Raoul clambered in beside her. Arnaud, who was driving, set the carriage into motion, and they headed back to the De Chagny mansion in silence.

Christine felt sick, not only at the sight of her friend bleeding and unconscious in front of her, but at the knowledge that it was the man she had once loved who had done this to him. She tried to reach out to stop the bleeding, but Raoul halted her hand, glaring at her warningly. She glowered at him, but leaned back in defeat. She did not want to do anything to anger him further; Erik and her son's lives were in this man's hands. This man who she didn't know. This was not Raoul. How could he call Erik a monster, when he was the one behaving so…monstrously? She couldn't believe that this was the same man who had treated her so wonderfully back at the opera; he had been such a gentleman. He had such a good heart. Where had it gone wrong?

Of course, Christine felt she was to blame for all of this. Perhaps she hadn't been the perfect wife. She had never truly loved her husband, at least not in the way she loved Erik. And she had spent the night before her wedding with the very man who had threatened to kill her fiancé. And then she had led Raoul to believe that Gustave was his son for the entire ten years of his life. And finally, and perhaps worst of all, she had left him for the very man who was at the heart of all these problems. Yes, she was to blame, yet she could not bring herself to regret a single one of her decisions, for all were justified; if she hadn't spent that night of passion with her masked man, Gustave would never have been born. And then if she hadn't made Raoul believe he was the father, she and her baby would have been out on the streets. But most importantly, in leaving Raoul for Erik, not only was she freeing Raoul of an unhappy marriage, but she was giving Gustave the father he deserved, and giving Erik a son. This all had to happen, despite the possible outcome. So she sat in silence, beside her husband, and begged her God to have mercy upon her family.

When they arrived at the mansion, Frank came out to meet them. He pulled Nadir from the carriage and threw the Persian over his shoulder, before disappearing into the house. He took the unconscious man to the cellar, carrying him down the steps and dropping him roughly beside the now conscious Erik. He secured Nadir in a similar way to how Erik had been bound, before disappearing back up the stairs.

Erik shuffled over to his friend, each movement causing him more pain than the last. He saw the bullet wound in Nadir's arm, and hoped that was the only damage.

"Nadir," he whispered hoarsely. It hurt to speak.

The Persian began to stir, before opening his eyes. He looked shocked as he saw the state Erik was in.

"Erik, what the hell happened?" he asked, wincing at the pain in his arm.

"Banged my head," Erik grinned.

Nadir tried to return the smile, but found he couldn't while looking at Erik. His face was caked in blood, and his cheeks were swollen and bruised. His neck was covered in blue black marks as if he had been strangled.

"What happened with you?" Erik asked.

"I'm not sure. One minute I'm at home with Christine, next thing I know someone bursts through the door and shoots me."

"Shit. If you're here, then Christine must be too. I swear if he lays a finger on her, I'll kill him," Erik growled, "I should've killed him when I had the chance. I had the knife against his neck, and I let him go."

"Rightly so," Nadir reasoned, "You're better than that Erik, it's in your past. If you kill him then you're just as bad as he is."

Erik considered this. He supposed Nadir was right. Plus, death was too kind for that twisted excuse for a man. No, he deserved to suffer. And he would, one way or another, whether it was at Erik's hand or someone else's, he would suffer.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

Raoul led Christine into the mansion, taking her through into one of the living rooms.

"Please, do take a seat, my dear," he said politely.

Christine stayed silent, rooted to the spot, glaring at her husband.

"Very well," Raoul said, taking her silence as a refusal.

"I want to see my son," Christine demanded.

"Of course," Raoul smiled, before nodding at Arnaud, who disappeared out of the room.

Minutes later, Gustave was pushed into the room, looking down at his feet the whole time.

"Gustave!" Christine cried as he entered. He looked up at his mother's voice and then ran to her.

She fell to her knees and pulled him close to her. They cried into one another's shoulders as they held each other. At length, Christine pulled away to look at her son's face. She gasped as she saw the purple bruising around his eye. She touched it gently and he winced.

"What happened?" she asked tearfully.

Gustave glanced warily up at Raoul, before looking down at his feet. Christine understood, and she jumped to her feet, whipping around and slapping Raoul across the cheek. He stepped back, before looking up and laughing at her. She lifted her hand to slap him again, but it was caught by Frank.

"Arnaud, take Gustave away," Raoul laughed.

Arnaud nodded, and took hold of the boy. Gustave began to struggle, and Christine began to shout and fight against Frank's hold. Both were overpowered, and Gustave was dragged, crying and screaming from the room, while Christine was left in Frank's grasp. When Christine had calmed, Frank released her, and she turned to face Raoul.

"What's happened to you?" she asked through her tears helplessly.

"You happened to me," Raoul told her sincerely, "You made me what I am."

Christine shook her head in disbelief. They stared at each other for several minutes before Raoul broke the silence.

"Frank, throw her down with the other two," he instructed.

Frank nodded, and began to drag Christine out into the hallway. She put up no fight as he pushed her through the cellar door, slamming it behind her. She sat down on the stairs, letting her head fall into her hands in defeat.

"Christine," came a voice.

She lifted her head and squinted in the darkness towards the source. As her eyes adjusted she saw two figures lying on the ground, one she recognised as Nadir, but the other was covered in blood.

"Christine," the voice seemed to come from the bloodied figure, and suddenly Christine recognised him.

"Erik," she cried, before leaping down the steps and falling to her knees beside him.

She reached out to touch his face and he moaned in pain.

"What has he done to you?" she whispered.

"It's not as bad as it looks," he reassured her, though she didn't believe him for a second.

"Erik, he's gone insane. He's hurt Gustave," she sobbed.

"What do you mean he's hurt Gustave?" he asked, appalled.

"He's got a black eye," she explained.

"That evil son of a bitch! First he turns my own son against me, and now he has the audacity to strike him!" Erik roared, ignoring the pain shooting through his body.

"Turned your son against you?" she echoed in confusion.

"That's why I was caught. He's brainwashed the boy; made him believe that I'm…a monster. And that I want to kill him," Erik looked down as tears started to well in his eyes.

"Hey, it'll be ok. Gustave is just naïve, but he will see the truth, just as I did," she comforted him.

"Damn the naivety. I was the same, when I was his age. I believed what anyone would tell me; that there was a God. That my mother loved me. That I was normal," he whispered distantly, "damn the naivety," he repeated.

Christine pulled him to her as gently as she could.

"We'll be ok," she soothed, "we'll get out of this."

Erik nodded without conviction. He hoped that she was right, but inside, he could not muster the courage to believe. Christine looked over at Nadir, noticing that he was unconscious.

"He hasn't woken up yet?" Christine asked Erik worriedly.

"He woke up briefly, long enough to say hello," Erik replied, laughing slightly despite their current situation.

"Will he be alright?" Christine asked, never taking her eyes from the Persian.

"I think so," Erik nodded, "it's not a serious wound, but he will need medical attention."

Christine whipped her head back to Erik.

"I think you need it more that he does," she told him, concern evident in her delicate features.

"I'm ok," he reassured, forcing a comforting smile onto his lips, "I've been through worse."

Christine did not show the shock she felt at this revelation. She could only imagine what horrors Erik's past held. She had seen his scars, and she knew that what he said was true. She knew he would be ok, but she hated that he was in pain all the same. Plus, this was no time to get complacent; for all they knew, this was not the end of it.


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N: Hey dudes!**

**Sooo, we've reached chapter 21, and there aren't many more to go!**

**This is a short chapter because I've been on the cider and it's all I can physically manage xD**

**I promise for the next one I'll be completely sober though!**

**ANYWHOO, enjoy =)**

Chapter Twenty-one: I Am Not Your Son

Gustave struggled angrily against Arnaud's grasp. He had to escape; his father was down in that cellar and Gustave did not know how badly he was hurt. He continued to kick and punch the tall, skinny man, who struggled to drag the boy along the hallway. Arnaud buckled and doubled over as Gustave's fist powered straight into his groin. He gasped, releasing the struggling boy, who turned around and threw his knee into the same spot. Arnaud fell to the floor, wincing and groaning in agony.

Gustave took the opportunity to run down the hallway. He reached the front door undiscovered, and he slipped through, sprinting off down the driveway. He climbed the vast gate with ease, hopping down the other side. He then took off into the dark Parisian streets.

He ran deeper and deeper into the town. He knew that any second, Raoul would discover his absence, and then who knew what would happen? It's not that he feared for his own safety, but his mother and father were also in danger. He couldn't believe that he had once called that man his father. But then again, Raoul had changed in the past few months. He had never been a particularly good father; he went out drinking and gambling a lot, and he didn't treat his wife very well. But only recently had Gustave realised how dangerous he could be. He had lost his mind in America, and now nobody could tell how far he would go to get revenge.

The more he thought about Raoul, the more urgent it seemed that he find help. He darted down street after street, stopping only when he came to the police station. It was the same gendarmerie that Raoul had taken Gustave to the night they returned to Paris.

He dashed inside and ran straight up to the main desk, where a policeman sat reading a newspaper. He looked up as Gustave approached.

"Are you alright, son? Look like you've run a marathon," he chuckled.

"You have to help me," he cried breathlessly, "My mother and father have been captured by my old father! He's keeping them in the cellar and father is hurt!"

"Slow down, slow down," the man at the desk frowned, "aren't you the De Chagny boy?"

"No! Well, yes, but he isn't my real father. He's keeping my real father in the cellar!" Gustave tried to explain.

"So who's your real father?" he asked patronisingly, clearly not believing a word the boy said.

"The man you were looking for to come over from America. My old father calls him 'the monster'."

The policeman at the desk snorted in amusement.

"Well you're wrong there then, boy. We captured that man in Calais this morning," he shook his head.

"No you can't have. I swear, he is in the cellar at my house!" Gustave cried.

"Does your father know you're here?" the man asked Gustave.

"He's not my father! And no, he doesn't."

"We'd better get you home then. I'm sure he's worried about you," the policeman smiled at the boy, shouting behind him for backup.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Gustave realised, close to tears.

The policeman laughed at the boy, but did not answer him. Three gendarmes appeared from a room behind the desk. The policeman at the desk told them what Gustave had said. They all burst out laughing, before one took hold of the boy and walked out of the station, followed by the other two men.

"You have to believe me!" Gustave begged the men as they bustled him into a carriage.

"Why's that?" one of them asked.

"Because I'm telling the truth! My father is hurt and in danger and you don't even care!"

"Of course we care," the policeman laughed, "We care about getting you back home so we can carry on with our card game back at the station."

The other men laughed and Gustave felt helpless. These men were the only ones who could help him rescue his parents, and they thought this was all a joke. And now he would be taken back to Raoul, who would find out what he had tried to do. Then no doubt he was in for a beating.

When the carriage had pulled up outside the gates of the De Chagny mansion, Gustave was bundled out. He was dragged in silence up to the front door, escorted by all three gendarmes. He stood still, staring at the floor, as one of the men knocked on the door. It was answered quickly, and Raoul stood before them in the doorway. First, Gustave saw fury on his features, but he quickly disguised it with false worry.

"There you are, son! I was getting worried," Raoul feigned relief.

"I am not your son," Gustave growled. Raoul glared at the boy briefly before turning his attention to the police officers.

"I must thank you, gentlemen, for bringing him home," Raoul said politely.

"No problem, Monsieur, but I feel I should tell you; the boy has been making claims that you are keeping people in your cellar, specifically his mother and a man who is his father, but is not you."

"Oh, of course. It's only to be expected for him to say such a thing, after what he has been through. He must have just had another nightmare," Raoul frowned.

"A nightmare, Monsieur?" the gendarme questioned.

"Indeed," Raoul nodded, "The boy has been having frequent nightmares since we returned from America, one being that a man who pretended to be his father is hiding in our cellar. Of course, it's only to be expected that he would act irrationally, you understand it must be quite frightening for him."

"Of course, Monsieur. We did not take anything he said to be true, you understand," the gendarme assured.

"Thank you once again for returning him. He will not run away again," Raoul smiled, throwing a threatening glance at the boy.

The head policeman smiled, before bowing politely at the Vicomte. He pushed Gustave lightly towards Raoul, before saying goodbye and turning on his heel.

Raoul was about to close the front door, when Frank stumbled in clumsily from the hallway.

"Master, the girl's making a fuss. She's trying to untie the men's bonds. Should I tie her up too?" he asked.

Raoul felt as though his heart stopped beating. He turned to see the policemen eyeing him suspiciously. He swallowed as they turned and began to walk back up to the house. Gustave jumped at the opportunity.

"See, see!" he cried, "My mother is in the cellar!"

The gendarmes looked at each other warily. Raoul stood completely still, cursing Frank under his breath.

"Perhaps we should just take a look in the cellar, Monsieur," the policeman said.

"Oh really, that won't be necessary; Frank has been reading too many mystery novels," Raoul chuckled nervously.

"No, he's lying!" Gustave cried, "He's lying!"

The boy lunged at Raoul, pushing him backwards and out of the doorway. The gendarmes thundered in, demanding that Frank show them to the cellar. He looked at his master in confusion, before showing them out into the hallway.

Raoul threw the boy away from him, running after the policemen.

Frank opened the door of the cellar, and the lead policeman walked down the steps as he saw the figures crouched on the floor.

"Jesus, the boy was right," he whispered under his breath.

Raoul appeared in the doorway, closely followed by Gustave.

"Arrest him!" the policeman ordered to his colleagues. They nodded and both made to grab hold of the Vicomte, but before they could get a grip, he took a step backwards, pulling Gustave to his chest. Christine made to run up the steps, but stopped suddenly as he pulled a gun from his pocket and held it to the boy's head threateningly.

"Come any closer and I'll shoot," Raoul growled. The policemen halted their advance, and Christine stood rooted to the spot, staring in fear. Erik tried to stand, but the pain in his head and body meant that he could not get to his feet. His lungs hurt so much that he couldn't even speak, so he stayed crouched on the floor, glaring menacingly at the Vicomte.

"You would hurt your own son?" the head gendarme asked in disbelief.

"This little wretch is not my son," Raoul spat, "he is the child of that demon down there!" he gestured to Erik briefly with the gun, before returning it to Gustave's temple.

"Raoul, let him go," Christine begged.

"Why should I?" he asked, "If I let him go, they'll arrest me."

"He doesn't deserve this," she reasoned, "He's just a boy."

Raoul considered this.

"You're right," he said, nodding, "he doesn't deserve this. But you do!"

He pushed the boy away from him, quickly turning the gun on Christine. Gustave fell to the floor a few feet away from Raoul.

"Just think about what you're doing. This isn't you," Christine cried.

"But this is me. This is what you made me; you destroyed me, Christine."

"You destroyed yourself," she shook her head.

"No, he destroyed me! That monster, that hell-spawned demon!" he yelled.

"Don't call my father a monster!" Gustave cried. He lunged at Raoul. Christine cried out, also running forward. The gendarmes leapt into action, also bolting forward towards the Vicomte.

Suddenly, the crack of a gunshot filled the air, and a body fell to the floor with a thud.


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N: Hey guys, sorry I have taken a while to update…I know it was mean leaving you on a cliff hanger like that xD**

**I'm afraid this chapter is short because I've been incredibly busy recently, but I didn't think it was fair to leave you waiting while I made it longer.**

**Went to see Phantom of the Opera AND Love Never Dies yesterday in London…how lucky am I? :P**

**Both were amazing as usual**

**But enough of making you jealous…time to find out who got shot right?**

**Enjoy and review**

**Much love xx**

Chapter Twenty-two: I'm Sorry, Christine

Raoul cried out as the bullet made contact with his kneecap. He buckled, falling to the floor in agony, the gun clattering to the marble floor beside him. Everyone stopped moving, turning towards the source of the gunshot. Erik stood at the bottom of the steps, gun in hand and shaking with lack of stability. The gendarme beside him stared in confusion at the sight of his own gun in the man's hand. He looked to his belt, and sure enough, the gun was not in its holster. But he hadn't felt it being removed.

Erik suddenly collapsed in weakness, falling heavily onto the stone floor. Christine ran down the stairs to him, lifting his head and cradling it in her lap. He needed to get to a doctor, and soon. He must have lost an immeasurable amount of blood, and who knew what injuries Raoul had inflicted upon his body. Christine stroked back the sparse hair on his head, whispering that everything would be alright.

Raoul screamed again in agony as he tried to get to his feet. This set the police into motion, and he was pounced on by two of the gendarmes. They struggled to get him onto his stomach, attempting to force his hands into handcuffs. However he put up a good fight, rolling around and throwing out his fists. He reached out for the gun, grasping it tightly and turning it on one of the policemen. They both stopped, unsure of how to handle such a situation, both having only recently joined the police force. Raoul glared up at them, before glancing down to the cellar.

He watched as Christine cradled the monster. He saw the love and tenderness in her caress, and he wondered why she had never acted like that with her own husband. What was so special about that thing that meant she loved him so much? Why did he deserve her? Why should Raoul let him have her? Christine was _his_ wife, not that monster's! And Gustave should have been his son. He looked over at the boy, who stood cowering against the wall. The boy was scared of Raoul, when his real father was the true monster. Raoul looked at Gustave, and all he saw was the image of that demon looking back. Gustave was not Raoul's son, and never would be. And if Raoul couldn't have the boy, why should the monster get him?

The anger suddenly welled up inside him, and he whipped the gun around with lightening speed, pointing it straight at the Gustave's head.

"If I can't have them, neither can you!" Raoul screamed, throwing one last glance down at the monster in the cellar.

Raoul's aim was good, and had one of the policemen not jumped down onto his raised arm, there was no doubt the bullet would have struck the boy's head. But as it was, the force on his arm lowered the gun as he pulled the trigger, and the metal was imbedded deep into Gustave's thigh.

The boy screamed out, falling to the floor and grasping at his leg. Christine bolted up the steps at the sound of the gunshot, and saw Gustave rolling around on the floor, crying uncontrollably, a pool of blood forming around him, emanating from the hole in his leg. She gasped and ran to him, falling to her knees beside his squirming body. She cradled him, tears falling rapidly from her own eyes. The head policeman ran out of the cellar, and dropped down next to Gustave. He set to work staunching the blood flow, while Christine comforted her son.

The two younger policemen watched in disbelief, completely overwhelmed by the situation. They looked down at the Vicomte, unsure of what to do.

Raoul watched as the blood gushed from Gustave's leg. He watched as the boy screamed in pain. He watched as Christine cried over the boy. He watched, and realised this was all because of him. Here was the boy he had known, raised and loved since birth, and although it wasn't truly his son, he realised how much he loved the boy. He had been blinded by hate, so much so that he couldn't see what was before him. This had been his family. This could have still been his family, had he not been so selfish. Christine was right; Raoul had been the one to blame in all of this. He had gambled their lives away, he had drunk himself into debt, and now he had shot the boy he had always called son.

He felt sick. He suddenly hated himself, more than he suspected Christine did. As he watched his family slip further and further away from him, tears spilled over from his eyes. What had he become? He had always called the Phantom a monster, and perhaps that had once been true. But he could see now that the spectre had changed. He was no monster, but a man. A man who loved Christine, just as Raoul did. A man who had once been blinded by that love, just as Raoul had been for the past ten years. They were not so different really. Except that they were, because Christine loved him, and not Raoul. And Raoul was shocked to find that, in fact, he wasn't surprised by this at all.

He looked back at his behaviour over the past ten years of his life. What had he ever done to make Christine love him? Perhaps they could have salvaged it, but now it was too late. He had shot the boy who he loved as a son, and had destroyed the one woman he loved more than anything in the world. He was the true monster. He was the true demon.

"I'm sorry, Christine," Raoul whispered brokenly.

She looked up in time to see him raise the gun to his own temple.

"Raoul, don't!" she cried desperately.

It was too late. She looked away as she heard the crack of the bullet leaving the gun, and she knew that he was dead. The entire room went silent. Even Gustave's cries of pain were silenced, as he looked over at the man who had once been his father in horror. The sight of the dead man's head filled Gustave with a fear he had never known to exist. Christine looked at the boy, and seeing him staring terror at the bloodied body of her husband, she forced his head to turn away.

At length, the head gendarme sent his two colleagues to fetch an ambulance, and they gladly left the scene. Erik suddenly appeared at the top of the cellar steps, crawling along on his hands and knees weakly. He dragged himself over to his wife and son, falling limply beside them and breathing erratically. Gustave was now falling in and out of consciousness with the pain. The boy was shivering, and Erik wished that the Vicomte hadn't stolen his cloak and jacket. The head gendarme got to his feet and disappeared down the hallway in search of blankets.

Christine was sat leaning against the wall with Gustave laid across her lap, his head in the crook of her arm. Erik pulled himself up to his knees, and crawled beside her, sitting and leaning against the wall next to her. She lifted her free arm and pulled his head down to rest on her shoulder. He complied, leaning against her, his eyes closing as she stroked the back of his head lovingly. They stayed this way in silence, and waited for the ambulance to come, relieved that they were finally back together, and that the ordeal was finally over.


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N: Okie Pokie chapter 23!**

**You can all sense the end drawing near.**

**I'm sorry to say there's only one more chapter after this one, so enjoy it while you can.**

**Anyway please review while you can, because soon enough it will be over :)**

**Love you all xxx**

Chapter Twenty-three: It's My Fault

Erik, Gustave and Nadir, who had remained unconscious throughout the entire affair, were carried away to hospital in separate ambulances, Christine opting to go with Gustave. She remained with the boy while they removed the bullet and stitched him up. Luckily, the metal had narrowly missed an artery, so the injury was not too serious. However, he would be unable to walk for a couple of weeks, and would have to use crutches for a month or so after that.

When Gustave had settled down to sleep, Christine decided to venture out and find Erik. She had heard no word of his condition, so was eager to find out how he was. She enquired at the front desk, and the receptionist took her to a room in the intensive care section of the hospital. There he was, lying peacefully in the hospital bed. She walked over and sat in the chair beside him, trying not to wake him, taking his hand in hers. The blood had been cleared from his face, and Christine could see the cuts and bruises that littered his cheeks and forehead. His nose was slightly crooked, and had been split open across the bridge, but it had been stitched well. His left eye was a deep purple and swollen shut.

The bed sheets came up to the bottom of his ribs, but he was covered in white bandages all the way up to his armpits, leaving only his bare arms, head and neckline exposed. Christine wondered the extent of his injuries, but found her answer as a doctor walked in. He was a young man, with short blond hair.

"You must be Madame De Chagny," he smiled.

"Please, it's Christine," she smiled back, "Christine Daae."

"Of course, Mademoiselle," he looked embarrassed, "I'm Doctor Chevalier."

"It is a pleasure, Doctor," she replied.

"Indeed it is," he smiled again, "I suppose you're wondering about his condition."

He gestured to the unconscious man in the bed.

"Yes, I am," Christine nodded.

"Well, the damage to his head is not life-threatening. It is predominantly surface bruising and cuts, which will all heal in time. Luckily he has suffered no serious blows to the side with the deformity, or it would be much more serious."

Christine nodded. She knew that side of his face was much weaker than the other. She wondered why Raoul had left that side unscathed, but she supposed that the undamaged skin on the left side of his face had been a blank canvas, too clean to resist.

"As for his body," the doctor began, "he has suffered a great deal of trauma to his torso. We found that he has several broken ribs, one of which had punctured his left lung. There were also two which had broken through the skin on his chest, hence the bandages. The bones have now been set, and hopefully the wound in his lung will heal by itself, although he may be left with long-term breathing problems and diminished ability to use his voice."

Christine gasped. He had suffered that much damage and yet had still had so much strength; he had managed to crawl up those cellar steps. He must have been in so much pain, although Christine suspected he had experienced worse pain than this.

"Thank you, Dr Chevalier," Christine said, not looking away from Erik.

"My pleasure, Mademoiselle. If you have any questions, just ask," he replied.

Christine nodded, and Dr Chevalier turned and left the room, leaving her alone with Erik. She stroked his hand tenderly, wishing that he was awake, but knowing he was better off asleep; at least if he was asleep he was not in pain, and his body could focus on healing itself.

Later, she enquired about Nadir. The nurses told her that he had lost a lot of blood, but she was relieved to hear that his wound was not serious and he would recover quickly.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

Christine spent the next two weeks dividing her time between Erik and Gustave, and occasionally visiting Nadir in the week he spent in the hospital. For the second week, Nadir stayed with whoever Christine was not with at that time, so that both Erik and Gustave would always have someone around.

Gustave had at first been wary of the Persian, not knowing the man, but he soon began to enjoy his company. Nadir taught him to play card games. It had kept him busy while he was confined to the hospital bed. At the end of the two weeks, Gustave was allowed to stand, with the help of crutches. He was happy to at last be out of bed, but he was less enthused when he was told he would need to remain in hospital for another week. He could not walk far the first time he stood, but he made it halfway down the hallway and back.

Erik, however, had not made such drastic improvements. He had not woken at all since he had been admitted to hospital. The bruising on his face had now disappeared, and apart from the stitches on his nose, he looked back to normal. But it appeared that his ribcage had not recovered quite as well. His breathing was strained, and his ribs had not completely healed.

The gendarmes had visited the hospital every few days for the first week or so, wanting to talk to the people involved in the incident. They had interviewed Christine, not only on what had happened in the past few months, but the happenings of ten years ago. Christine had told them the truth, and she was starting to believe that the police were at last seeing Erik's innocence. He may have killed some people ten years ago, but they had no proof of that, and he had changed anyway. She explained how she had gone with him willingly in America, and told them how Raoul had taken Gustave. Of course, this had been backed up by the boy himself, who had also been interviewed. When Nadir had recovered, he had also been questioned, and he explained his part as well as Darius'. He was sure that Darius would be punished up to a point, but hopefully Nadir had helped soften the blow.

The police had not visited in around a week, but had said they would return whenever Erik was able to talk to them. In the mean time, they had arrested Frank and Arnaud, who had also been questioned. As for Raoul, he had been buried a week after his death. Christine had decided not to go to the funeral, feeling it would be wrong after everything that had happened, although she would visit his grave one day when her new family had recovered.

After three days of Gustave being on crutches, he asked to see his father. He knew that Erik had not been awake yet, but he wanted to see him anyway. Christine agreed to take him, and she helped Gustave hobble down to Erik's room.

Gustave entered the room in silence, limping over to his father's bed. He sat down on the mattress beside Erik, resting his crutches against the wall. Christine sat down in the chair on the other side of the bed and watched her son.

Gustave shakily reached out, laying his hand on Erik's deformed cheek tenderly. Christine watched as her son's expression changed from concern to overwhelming sorrow. She leapt to her feet as the boy broke down into tears, running over and sitting next to him on the bed, embracing him in her arms. He clung to her as he sobbed.

"What's wrong, darling?" Christine asked gently.

"It's my fault," he choked out, "it's all my fault. He came to rescue me and I got him caught. I got him beaten."

She hushed him, rocking him gently.

"Of course it wasn't your fault. You were scared. He understands that. He knows what Raoul made you believe, and he doesn't blame you for anything," Christine cooed at her son.

"How do you know he doesn't blame me? He hasn't woken up yet," Gustave cried.

"Because he's your father, and he loves you. Nothing you could ever do would change that. Plus, Raoul fooled us all, not just you."

Gustave quietened, and soon his sobs subsided. Christine still held him to her, stroking his hair.

"I missed you," he whispered.

"I missed you too," Christine replied tearfully, "More than you can imagine. But we are together now, and everything is going to be alright. Let us focus on that now, and not what has already happened."

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

Two days later, Christine sat in the chair beside Erik's bed, holding his hand as she always did. He had still not woken up, and she was surprised at how much she missed him. She just wished he would wake up soon; she felt lonely without him. It was strange, but she had managed to spend ten years apart from him before, yet now she couldn't bear the thought of having to wait even two weeks for him to wake up. The past few months had bonded them in ways she could never have imagined. She was him, and he was her. One without the other felt wrong; like half was missing. She needed him. She needed her angel of music.

As she looked at his face, she began to sing an old French lullaby. She hadn't sang since the night Raoul had supposedly left her with Erik, and her voice felt strained, but it still felt good feeling the vibrations in her chest as the notes flowed. As the music swelled, she felt something twitch in her hand, and it took her a moment to register what had caused it. She stopped and looked down at Erik.

"Erik," she whispered.

She received no response, so carried on singing, this time watching him intently.

His hand twitched again, and his eyelids flickered for just a second. She leaned in and sang quietly into his ear. His eyes fluttered open, and rolled around before focussing on hers.

"Hello," she choked out in happy disbelief.

He tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked gasp. He could not seem to find his voice. He struggled to push out words.

"Don't try to speak," Christine whispered, "You had a punctured lung so the doctor said you would find it hard to talk," she explained.

He blinked tiredly. He tried to lift his hand to her face, but dropped it back down halfway in weakness. Christine took his hand and lifted it for him, resting it against her cheek. He let out a breathy sigh.

"Where…" he pushed out in a strained whisper. Christine shook her head to tell him not to talk, but he persisted, "Where…Gust…Gustave," he winced as the final word was forced from his mouth, still not finding his voice.

"He's ok," Christine nodded, smiling down at him, "He's in a room down the hall. Shall I go and get him?" she asked.

Erik could only nod. He had to see his son; he had to know the boy was alright. Christine nodded back, before placing a kiss on his palm and guiding his hand back down to his side. She then stood and hurried off out of the room.

She returned a few minutes later, followed by Gustave, who was still on crutches. She helped him over to the bed, and he sat down on the mattress next to his father. Christine took the crutches from him and moved to sit in her usual chair. She squeezed Erik's hand to tell him they were there, and slowly his eyes opened. Again, it took him a few seconds to focus them, but when he did, a slight smile showed on his lips as he saw the boy sitting before him.

Gustave tried to smile but found he couldn't. He still blamed himself for this, even if his father did not. Erik tried to speak, and was frustrated again when all he could manage was a whispered groan. Gustave's eyes filled with tears as he watched his father struggle to talk, and they quickly overflowed down his cheeks. Erik looked up at his son, a confused frown ghosting over his brow. Christine wanted to comfort her son, but felt she should leave them to have this moment, so she restrained herself and remained in the chair.

"I'm sorry," Gustave choked out in a sob, breaking eye contact and looking down at the bed covers.

Erik shook his head slightly and once again tried to speak, and once again failed to do so. He had to let the boy know that he was not to blame, but he couldn't physically tell him. He mustered the strength inside him to lift his hand to Gustave's chin, lifting the boy's face. Gustave once again looked into his father's eyes, and he saw the man's love shining back at him, and he knew what his mother had told him before was true. Gustave took his Erik's hand in his own, and lowered it to the bed, where he held it tight. Erik squeezed the boy's hand gently, before closing his eyes in exhaustion, content that his son was alright and his family were beside him. Christine and Gustave watched as Erik drifted off into a peaceful sleep.


	24. Chapter 24

**A/N: So we've reached the end of the story.**

**I just wanna thank EVERYONE who has reviewed, especially you guys who review after every single chapter =) You guys make me happy!**

**Thank you for all the support you have given. You've made the story what it is, because without you, I would have stopped at chapter one.**

**I can't believe I've managed to write 24 chapters and over 50 000 words…longest thing I'd ever written before this was a 5000 word essay on the Cold War (thrilling stuff that xD )**

**Anyway, enough rambling. I hope you enjoy the final chapter. Leave me one last review before you sail of into the sunset to some other story =)**

**I love you all!**

**xxx**

Chapter Twenty-four: A Second Chance

A week later, Erik had made vast improvements. He was now awake most of the time and was able to sit up. His voice had not returned, but he was able to whisper. Christine requested that he be allowed to leave the hospital and be moved to Nadir's house. After much debate, the hospital staff had agreed, and Erik had been transported to the Persian's house in an ambulance, where he was moved straight into his bed. Christine was happy that she was able to sleep beside Erik now, and Gustave was using the sofa as a bed.

The next day, two policemen had come round, demanding that Erik answer their questions. Christine and Nadir had been angry, but they had complied. The police had asked the questions in the bedroom, and Christine, Nadir and Gustave had been forced to wait in the living room.

At length, a policeman appeared from the bedroom.

"Mademoiselle, Monsieur, if you would come in here. We have some things we wish to discuss with you," he spoke politely.

"Of course," Nadir smiled, getting to his feet and following Christine into the other room.

Once in, one of the policemen began to talk.

"Mademoiselle, Monsieur, we have questioned Monsieur Erik, and we have no reason to doubt your stories. They are all consistent, and the recent behaviour of the Vicomte only supports your claims."

Christine smiled at Nadir, glancing over at Erik who returned a half-hearted grin. She was confused by his lack of enthusiasm, and she realised their must be a catch in what the man was saying. Sure enough, the policeman continued talking.

"However," he began, "You understand that you have all broken the law in one way or another. We are obligated to arrest all of you, but we see that in such a situation you were forced into your actions. However, I'm afraid we cannot simply testify your innocence in these circumstances, but we have decided not to arrest any of you due to your obvious innocence, provided yourself, Monsieur Erik and Gustave leave France as soon as Monsieur Erik is able to," he explained.

Christine looked taken aback by this information, but she supposed it was a good thing that they would not be arrested. Although, she didn't quite understand the policemen's reasoning and suspected that there was more to it. She looked over to Erik, who nodded at her.

"Very well, Monsieur," she nodded.

"I'm glad you understand, Mademoiselle. We shall return soon to see whether Monsieur Erik is able to relocate. But for now, we ask you to remain inside and unseen."

Christine nodded and bade the policemen farewell as Nadir showed them out. She sat down on the bed beside Erik, placing her hand down on his cheek.

"There's more to it isn't there?" she asked.

He knew what she meant, and he nodded, before explaining in the strained whisper that was all he could manage these days.

"Everything that has happened recently would make their police force look very poor. If they admit that I had managed sneak past them in the first place, it would ruin public confidence in them. At the moment, the press don't know that you're in France, and I am thought to be incarcerated in Calais. But they are aware of the Vicomte's suicide," he told her, "It is easier for them if we just disappear. Any involvement with the courts would only result in the police being questioned."

Christine nodded thoughtfully.

Nadir returned to the bedroom, closing the door behind him so that Gustave would not overhear.

"So, Erik, once again you are to be run out of France," he commented.

"So it would seem," Erik whispered, "Although at least this time the police want me gone and not caught."

"Where will you go?" Nadir asked.

"America," Erik answered, "At least I have some sort of a life there to return to."

Nadir nodded.

"I will be sad to see you leave again, my friend," Nadir sighed sincerely.

"Come with us," Christine suddenly chirped up.

Erik looked at Nadir expectantly, but the old Persian just chuckled and shook his head.

"No, no, I'm too old to be gallivanting off around the world. I have a quiet life here, a peaceful life. Plus, Darius needs me. Once he gets out of prison," Nadir laughed.

"Well, I should think we will be here for at least another few weeks. We need to wait for Monsieur le Phantom to recover," Christine teased, throwing a mischievous smile at Erik. He grinned back, winking at her, "I suppose we had better tell Gustave," she sighed.

Nadir went out and fetched Gustave, helping him limp over to the chair beside Erik's bed. Christine then knelt down before him, resting her hands on his knees.

"Gustave, you know that your father is in trouble with the police, don't you?" she asked him.

He nodded.

"Well, the gendarmes have been very kind, and have promised not to arrest him," she told him.

"That's excellent!" Gustave grinned happily.

"However, there is one condition. We are not allowed to stay in France," Christine said sadly.

"Are we going to go back to America?" he asked excitedly.

"Yes, as long as that's ok with you…"she suggested.

"Of course," Gustave smiled, "Will we go back to Phantasma?" he asked, turning to his father.

"Perhaps," Erik whispered thoughtfully. The truth was he wasn't sure whether returning to Phantasma was a good idea. It had been the place where he'd spent ten miserable years, and the island held many bad feelings. Yet it had also been the place where he had been reunited with Christine, and where he had found out about his son. There were so many good feelings mixed up with the bad. Perhaps returning to Phantasma would be best for all of them.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

A month later, the gendarmes returned. They declared that Erik was fit to travel, and instructed the family to leave France by the following evening. Christine had not been happy about the time the police had given them to leave, but she could not claim that she hadn't expected it.

Erik was indeed much better. Although his voice still had not returned, his lungs had healed well, and his ribcage was fixed, but still slightly weak. He could walk around now, although Christine still insisted he take it easy. She was starting to worry that his voice might never return. It seemed his damaged lung was not the only reason for his lack of the ability to talk. It seemed that Frank had caused severe damage to Erik's neck, and although there had been no damage to the bones, it seemed his voice box had suffered a tremendous beating.

Erik felt lost without his voice. It was the one thing that he had always had. He had always used it to save his life, and to get what he wanted. But, most importantly, it had brought him Christine. He had to admit that he was terrified that without his voice, she wouldn't love him. After all, it was his voice that had drawn her to him. But Christine had no such worries. Of course, she loved his voice, but he was still Erik without it. And she knew it bothered him more than it bothered her.

Once the police had left, Christine, Erik and Gustave began to get ready to leave that evening. Christine and Nadir ventured over to the empty De Chagny mansion to collect hers and Gustave's things. She felt sad leaving the house where she had spent ten years of her life, and yet happy to be leaving to start anew. She had not told Erik, but back at the hospital, the De Chagny lawyer had visited her. He told her that Raoul had left her everything he owned. She had been taken aback at first. She had considered taking what he had left her, but she had decided against it. She couldn't take anything from Raoul after everything that had happened. She would not be a hypocrite. So she had refused, and Raoul's entire estate had been returned to his parents.

She opened the wardrobe in what was once hers and Raoul's bedroom. There were rails and rails of Raoul's jackets and shirts. She touched the smooth fabric of her favourite jacket of his. She was hit with a wave of nostalgia as she thought about the young man she had married. He had been so happy at first, so full of life. How can it have gone so wrong? A silent tear rolled down her cheek. She really had loved him, a long time ago.

She sighed, and pulled her own clothes from the wardrobe, packing them into a bag on the bed. She picked up the suitcase, and left the room quickly, refusing to look back. As she walked down the stairs of the mansion, she realised that she had to visit his grave. For her own sake, she had to settle things within her head before she left the country, perhaps forever.

She sent Nadir home with her bags, telling him that she wanted to visit the cemetery. She opted to walk there, feeling like she needed the time to prepare herself. It was a relatively long walk, but it went quickly as memories of the past ten years swirled through her mind all the way.

Before she knew it, she was stood before his grave. His family had given him a very regal looking gravestone, engraved with the family emblem. Now that she was here, she had no idea what to say. Only two words entered her mind, so she said them.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. Then the words began to flow, "I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry it never worked between us. I'm sorry I made you unhappy. I just wish I could change things. I wish you had never met me. You could have been so happy with someone else. We never fitted right. You were the Vicomte, I was the orphaned chorus girl. You deserved so much better. I was nothing compared to you."

"You're everything," a voice whispered in her ear from behind her. She knew that voice, even as a whisper.

"Erik, what are you doing here?" she asked, not turning around.

"Making sure you're alright," he said, "Nadir told me you were acting strangely. He said you came here, so I came to keep you company."

"How did you get here so fast?" she asked.

"I took a carriage. It's much quicker than walking."

She heard him shuffle closer, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his head on her shoulder.

"Are you ok?" he whispered softly.

"I think so," she answered quietly, entwining her hands with his at her stomach, "I just…I can't believe it turned out like this. If only I had had the courage all those years ago to tell him I didn't want him. Before we were married. He could have been happy."

"You're not to blame, Christine," he told her softly, pressing a tender kiss to the side of her head, "None of us can change the past. We can only make the most of the future."

Christine sighed. He always knew the right thing to say. She turned in his embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck and reaching up to kiss him gently. At length, she pulled back, resting her forehead against his.

"You know I love you, don't you?" she asked.

"Not as much as I love you," he teased, kissing her on the nose.

She smiled, pressing her lips to his again.

"Come on, let's go," he whispered against her lips.

She pulled away, looking into his eyes and smiling sadly. She nodded, and they turned away from the grave, and walked away hand in hand.

They returned to Nadir's house to find the Persian in a very good mood.

"What are you so happy about?" Erik asked in his most confident sounding whisper. He found that ever since he had lost his voice, he could not sound anywhere near as commanding.

"Good news, my friend, Darius has been released," the Persian declared happily.

"Excellent news. You must thank the boy on my behalf," Erik replied, smiling at the Persian's excitement.

"You can thank him yourself. He is meeting us in Calais tomorrow to see you off."

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

That night, Christine, Erik, Nadir and Gustave piled into a large carriage and left for Calais. Gustave waved goodbye to Paris as they crossed the border, and Christine smiled, sharing his enthusiasm in leaving for their new life.

They travelled throughout the night. Nadir sat reading a book. Christine slept against Erik's shoulder, and Gustave slept across his father's lap. Erik revelled in the unfamiliar closeness of his son. He stroked the boy's hair as he slept. He still could not believe how beautiful his son was, yet he did not doubt that he was the father; he could see the features of the clear side of his own face all over the boy's. They had the same eyes, and the same cheek dimple, that became especially pronounced whenever they smiled. Yet there was also so much of Christine in him, which Erik had no doubt was where he got his beauty from. He turned his head and placed a soft kiss to Christine's hair, careful not to wake her.

"You really do love her, don't you," Nadir stated more than asked.

"More than anything," he whispered, "except perhaps the boy."

Nadir smiled as Erik looked down at his son.

"He looks like you," Nadir said softly.

"Poor child," Erik chuckled.

Nadir smiled.

"He loves you, too," Nadir stated confidently.

Erik smiled down at the boy.

"I know," he replied, "I just hope I can be a good father. All I want is for him to be happy."

"Erik, there's no doubt in my mind that you will be an excellent father," Nadir told him, "Of course, you can be a stubborn fool at times. And you're far too self-pitying. But you have a good heart, and that boy could do a lot worse than have you as a father."

Erik smiled appreciatively at his old friend. He just hoped the old Persian was right.

-o0o0o0o0o0o-

Darius met them at the docks the next morning. He helped Erik, Christine and Gustave carry their luggage to the ship. Erik pulled him aside from the others, leading him a little way from the ship.

"Thank you, Darius," Erik told the young man, "You cannot imagine how much I appreciate what you have done for my family."

"Oh, really, it was no trouble, Monsieur Erik. I was happy to do it," Darius replied.

Erik smiled.

"Take care of Nadir, will you?" he asked Darius.

"Of course," he nodded.

Erik clapped him on the back, before turning back towards his family and Nadir.

"We have to board," Erik stated.

Christine nodded. She looked at Nadir for a moment, before throwing her arms around his neck and embracing him.

"Thank you, Nadir. For everything," she told him tearfully.

"It was my pleasure, Christine," he chuckled, "Look after him. He's new to all of this," he whispered so that Erik could not hear.

"I will," she whispered back, before stepping away from the Persian.

"Gustave, it was a pleasure to meet you," Nadir said heartily, smiling down at the boy and offering his hand for a handshake.

Gustave grinned back, shaking the Persian's hand with enthusiasm.

Christine took Gustave's hand, pulling him away a few feet from Erik and Nadir to give them a moment alone.

Erik looked at the old man before him. He could feel the tears welling up as he sensed that this would be the last time he would see this man. Nadir seemed to be thinking the same thing, because his kind, wrinkled eyes were also glassed over with the threat of tears. At length, Erik stepped forward and embraced his friend.

"Thank you," he whispered in the Persian's ear.

"You have nothing to thank me for, Erik," he replied, pulling away and holding Erik still before him, "Just make sure you enjoy your life from now on. Make the most of what you have been given and don't go throwing it away. You have been blessed with a second chance. Use it."

"I will," Erik replied sadly.

They looked at each other for a moment, before Nadir held out his hand to his friend. Erik took it, shaking it gently.

"Go now, or the ship will leave without you," Nadir said shakily, trying to hold down his tears.

Erik nodded, and turned from his friend.

"Goodbye, Monsieur," Gustave said cheerily over his shoulder as Erik led him and Christine towards the ship.

Nadir waved, forcing a smile onto his face.

The trio boarded the ship, and Gustave ran straight up onto the deck, followed by his parents. He waved down to Nadir and Darius as the ship pulled away from the docks. Erik stood behind his son, watching his friend seem to grow ever smaller as they travelled further out into the sea. Christine looked up and saw the sorrow on her masked man's face. She shuffled towards him and nuzzled herself into his side. He wrapped his arm around her protectively, placing a kiss on the top of her head. Together they stood and watched as France disappeared on the horizon, and dreamed of their new life together, whatever it may bring.


End file.
